Текст песни Малый из Ателье - Ртуть

Teach not to get sick of this stupid disease
Stop the mercury to not write you songs
Too small a thermometer, for my couple pictures
Where are you in pictures, in the notes on my plates
I've been sick of your stupid cold
Sorokagradusnuyu prisoner with the beautiful bat utensils
On judgment day leave all their medication
I'm not a fucking prince, what would give half my kingdom
You state where I broke all the laws
For that we have closed a ton of love on the bars
We both forty, the thermometer happiness
Blood boils from the dirty, tired wrist
From mutual come back, and I grabbed more
You're with me on the shoulder, I smoke tabachёk
The thick cloud of smoke preferring bit
Do you prefer me to a restaurant kitchen stoves
Where life is smoke, while I have a membrane
I throw torn rhyme on someone's drums
Bars highways, women and foreign ladies
I would have given you everything, but life changes plans
Temperatures my feelings already under forty
Boredom does not banish sad, sad to leave in disgrace
Teach not get sick of this stupid disease
Stop the mercury that had not written to you songs
Too small a thermometer, for my couple pictures
Where are you in pictures, in the notes on my plates