Lyrics Guf и Баста - Не все Потеряно пока

Basta:
If you started ramming - be nice to row
Your style is a tedious passive, you carry your feet.
I saw nemereno type of cool MS
You make a gangstar of yourself,
But your mother is waiting for you at home by six.
Son, it is better to grow first,
Although the age is unlikely to be such as you will add wisdom
God forbid you get caught in the street,
After all, everything you can say: Basta, I'm sorry.
Let I not so mastitis as other MS,
But any fucking in five seconds will endure brains
It is better not to touch the members of my family in the texts
There is a wax fall and not rise from the ground.
I was debited from the account, deleting from the lists of the living
I was on zeros: now zero fees stick to the fees
And may I not have the blow of Muhammad Ali,
But his spirit of faith and struggle is close to me.
Maybe I'm old-fashioned and in my time naphthalene,
Prefering for a fresh loop, the old vinyl
Someone pre No School and Southern style,
And the prime minister and Talib Kveli drive me crazy.
Someone has a bunch of boutiques and a fashionable outfit,
A new motive is piercing me, and a bitterly tortured bit, on top of a memorized verse
If I can not forget: if I forget,
Be sure there is someone to pick up.
He did not become rich, but there is always something to read about,
He did not become a saint, but he did not become a devil-Th
I know Che in this muddy game,
Rostov-on-Don, Moscow on the Moscow River.

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moscow River, Rostov on Don
And I'm on my shore

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moscow River, Rostov on Don
And I'm on my shore

Guf:
Strange, but I'm happy with what is
I trample my lawn, I have weight on the scales
And our kneading is gaining momentum
It's rushing me, to be honest like no one here
I worked as a guide, drove crowds to the people
Dark paths through the courtyards of the city
Now I'm here, in your stereo system,
The Centr division, the secret message department.
Higher than antennas, lower than clouds,
These themes are written at night by the Moscow River
She helps the patsanchik: her right hand
They smoke together the planer and confuse the shores.
Then they pump cities from Kaliningrad to Kamchatka
And back, so it is necessary,
Thanks to the blanks and wires,
The whole country is aware of these strange, central layouts.
New batches of staff for connoisseurs of culture,
We do not need containers, cisterns, wagons,
Naval equipment in record time
These lines fly into your system blocks.
In the Far East, in Siberia or in Central Asia,
On the North Pole or in the Caucasus,
We said in my opinion that we are in touch,
Do you still trust Guf and Baste?
At the studio in Gaza, both at the military base
I'm in meat, Moscow ganjubasik is dangerous,
Vasya in the classic brews in a basin, something Chinese,
Us in different ways, but sausage.
On a holiday or on weekdays, we are not alone here
And we will not go to the studio,
He drinks tea, I blow, we have a Che to discuss,
We talk, rhyme and put it to people.

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moscow River, Rostov on Don
And I'm on my shore

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moskva River, Rostov-on-Don
And I'm on my shore

While we are engaged in this nonsense,
Someone pretends to be friendly with the head,
Someone does not have a head and has never been,
But these and other pryut this nonsense

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moscow River, Rostov on Don
And I'm on my shore

Know, not everything is lost yet,
In the hand a pen and on paper a string
While Moscow is on the Moscow River, Rostov on Don
And I'm on my shore