Текст песни Александр Башлачёв - Мы льем свое больное семя

We pour their sick seeds
On the blade of the knife,
Which cuts the time we have,
When the shoots yield.

Democratically all plants
The greatness of a simple herb.
And two blisters on his knees
Otherwise usefully head!

I invite you to the barrier,
His enemies tried and tested -
For convictions and faith
Spit with ten steps.

Today, all distributed cross -
And the clever fool.
He died the poet - a slave of honor,
I cook in their own juices,

Strait of his sick seeds
On the blade of the knife,
Which cuts the time we have,
When the shoots yield.

Come on chewing gum
Close up the holes of our wounds.
Breaking favorite records,
Utknemsya blue screen.

Jesters, buffoons and Prophets
Today, they are & quot; & quot ;, Fender
To sing in hard rock
Intrigues barnyard.

And every night at restaurants
They work and drink.
And looking for the truth in the cups,
And this truth spit!

Spit his sick seeds
On the blade of the knife,
Which cuts the time we have,
When the shoots yield.

We harnessed the pig into the carriage,
I usyadus coachman.
And the twenty-two square meters
Combine night with a breeze.

We shall open a vein quickly
Reliable razor & quot; Gillett & quot ;.
But instead of blood pouring beer
And only stain flooring.

Under the dim sun ripen sickly
Love the holy seed.
Love is like gonorrhea,
Because it is treated!

We pour all their sick seeds
On the blade of the knife,
Which cuts the time we have,
When the shoots yield.

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