Круг Михаил - Зек-рэп - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

My dad - a tinsel window-maker and never changed his color - watered the center goats and taught me.

I wasn't much of a cook in the kitsch then and, picking around in my nose, I asked daddy:

"And you should stick in the filki, save up for a locomotive, then let off the steam - and dump it in cash.

You see - when you get old, and the stump doesn't smoke, you'll collapse on the stove And remember these days.

And you for these bullshit - On the pakshi in the boilers, they drive rumbels, We'll give you vodka with a hailo!

In a week you'll scrape off what you would have been serving time for, you'll heat up the window again - And off to the kitschman."

At this dad slowly poured himself a glass and, having eaten his lunch, said to me: "Boy!

Gigolos with freemasons, Zhigans, pickpockets - all at odds with the laws, - Did you think about food?

Zek-rap, zek-rap, zek-rap.

Whatever the suit, - the klifts - the same style: both the thief and the freemason are equal before the boss.

You would be a pair of pantyushki, break loose, sonny - a stamp on a rumbel, and pee-pee in the pot!"

Daddy soon did time in the jail for filki, - but the safecracker took pity - And took him as an apprentice.

It's a thing: you set your eyes on the safe - and in the evening the shaggy ones Will open for you.

Such fucking little centers, - My head is spinning, - what about daddy's sipovkas? - Collective farm whore.

And they have checkered cookies, Bananas, pineapple, a Camel cigarette for you? - Please - for you!

It's not about the hustle, Sonechka, A Shurik per run, - and from such a frisk Even the dead will come to life!

The cops, of course, are running around, Tearing buns at the safe, - and I'm having lunch here, They won't find me!

Prisoner-rap, prisoner-rap, prisoner-rap.

I'll uncork the cork - and there are my buddies nearby - their Russian soul wants beer and vodka.

Today we'll have a good time and sing, and tomorrow we'll do some business - and we'll start living again.

The cops scare us with the Sotka, - and we'll give them a grand - here! Even though we are given a short freedom between terms.

Zek-rap, zek-rap, zek-rap.

Zek-rap, zek-rap, zek-rap.