эхопрокуренныхсараев - рак вылечился от тебя - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

You pray to Allah to take your soul. You are so much sucker that your mother works in my basement, for the floor, a gram, in two shifts, you look in the dungeon Hyun Ty, and you get dirty from the shades. When you were still in the womb, your dad beat you, and the sisters and brothers. I'm hanging here in Inter Net, you hang on a loop. I wake up to the songs of Yegor Creed, and you wake up a nits to the sounds of explosions, because you are from Ukraine. I have expensive clothes of two de chan, and the full pockets of Xaaaaaanax. Your grandfather in the house at the old ones, dancing under German marches, and dresses up in a hyitler. The Caucasians from the mountains, they put your Ukrainian love on the lard, and when she pumped it, on the butkia butkia, you fucking Pinokio, toothless creature, your caries in the mouth did not see a one hundred mother, but my dick. Your parents are waiting for you to die, meet your thieves' batu from the zone, ask how to do it? And he answers you, kra kra ku. Mom says to me, be on a check, and I'm on the check, I buy sweets in a pharmacy,

Your rep, the worthless Coo Coo Coo. My rep, condensed by MOO Loo Coo, put you in the stove, Hoo Loo Kost, you are not so Hoo Roo, I arranged on a bat, horror show. My Panchi, like a dick in your mother, although she is not Everest, but I climbed on her. The morning is kind, and your dad is harsh, it is precisely because of it that you have a torn anal virgin whore, even the church itself is ashamed of you, because even when you have a dick, you have five self-esteem. I would call my book Chronicic Sosa if I wrote about you. Your mother died from Tolstoy Hu, she sucked like a count, Pyu Ka la. I draw Mahamed, and your grandmother wanted to accept a tincture of the motherwort, but confused her with Islam, you got a member of the dead schoolgirl of Beslam. I explode the Joeinds, my cap will always be dense, in your birth certificate it is written, born dead. You, disabled person, your Bae ve is a stroller, your children are autistic, their sweets, this is a coaxil. Your orphanage, the sky presses on the world as a press of Soviet terror, your actual birds are circled over you, you have been discharged from the anchological hospital, you like you were cured of cancer, or rather, this cancer is cured of you. You are not cured of cancer, but cancer is cured of you. My music, the rivers of the blood of the gods, your dad is a mother in a freezer, now she is Sergey Bagrov. You pray for the death of all the existing gods, and even Allah, but everything turned to dust. You regret that you were not drowned in boiling water during childbirth, your sister went to nature, with immigrants from the Caucasus, now her chocolate eyes like Dombaas. As a child, my mother wrote you for football, but forgot that you have no legs. You burn your palm on the lighter, and cool it on the iron. Grandma loves you, prepares for you with cyanide potassium pies. Your legs froze and you shit in boots.