ChipaChip feat. Smiky Hup - Телепорт - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Tell me, bro, why are you in codes?

Why are you focusing on some random numbers, wrinkling your face like you're eating a citrus fruit?

There's a real shortage of growth in these kinds of things.

You're pecking at everything like chicks, right?

From success to suicide.

Everything seems to have a price here.

Yellow walls again.

Feet like they're in a pile of cement.

They're selling people, not the color of meth, but everything all at once.

The rhythm of black cloaks.

Fruits among vegetables, a dealer as thin as Koshchei.

And drunks are yelling in the courtyards.

Too many bloodhounds on Skill.

Too many fucking unnecessary things.

There's no light in the area, we're all in a cave.

With a pile of skeletons of our promises.

We're just doing nothing here.

Tell your mom, please, now we're here.

We're having a good time, we've become impoverished.

And there are countless reasons to be sad.

Trouble and zero mercy.

Bugs in my memory, on the abacus.

Not a chore. Change again

Not an option, change again, beggar among virtual thousands

I'll find more like you

Change again, change again, beggar among virtual thousands

I'll find more like you, I'll find more like you

My inner demon - always in search of money

In search of souls and evil bullshit

It's fashionable to be black, I'm as white as white

White as snow at the end of the warming

You and your black ego stifle me

I'm freezing in a lie from the eternal running

All this is inside and cries like a bitch

My little world, it's just a legend

Stop being easy, all this is just attacks

Fuck being a coward, get your shit together

Fuck showing off and fashionable clothes

Maybe it's too late, or maybe it's time?

Okay! Let's stop fucking dancing

There's nothing to do here, what's so surprising? Do it your way, there's no point in trying.

You know it's all bullshit.

We'll split it all equally, bro.

Every one of us is showing off our faces here.

Every one of us has been here for a long time.

I was expecting stadiums, but it's a bummer.

This is what I do, practically for free.

I make music videos, but where the fuck do I get paid? Everyone strives to be close to a brother.

But, brother, goodness should be the opposite, right?

Teleport, teleport, teleport, I made a teleport.

I did something in a pop style, in a pop style, they write like it's too much.

They write you're not the one, you're not the one, they write like it's not the same.

You haven't seen life, you haven't seen life, it's so tightly obscured by the monitor.

The song isn't even about someone making money, although it seemed like Toka Toka Toka was aiming for the top.

Whiners in cars again, music bums constantly put them on repeat, bitch.

You're not playing Tiny Toon, you're playing, but you're playing out of tune, you'll say again, so what? Once again, a talent borrowing money, you hope to be heard from every phone, iron, and stereo.

Once again, a fashion swashbuckler, screwing tampons into the ears of the masses.

I'm stuck, worn out, while someone is looking for a reason.

While someone is looking for help, while there is this option, I'll remind you.

And I'll tell you, completely seriously, that you're unlikely to get out into the field alone.

You get out into the field alone, so cold and unsociable.

Forgetting whether it's night or day now, the heat of thin ice floes underfoot again.

We do all this without intent.

I just wanted to say a ton of words again.

We do all this without intent.

I just wanted to say a ton of words again.

It's blinding, it's blown away.

I couldn't stand the bright light of those lamps.

Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again?

Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again? Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again?

Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again?

Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again?

Tell me why we have junk instead of medals again?