окно в париж (window to paris) oxxxymiron lyrics english

How Astana has become prettier under Nur-Sultan!
By the way, the requisites in the description
“Blessed are the poor in spirit” – this is how the Holy Scripture teaches us
Putin wears “Celine”, Lukashenko “Margiela”

Gnu his line – Griselda, from the first mixtape
Kleptomaniacs all sound like Scryptonite for poor conveyor belts
Success, you don’t fumble , this is a vibe

No, you just read shit, ya
You go to Bumba, in African American – klezmer
Hella money maker, master of ceremonies
Syura, a cargo carrier, absurd cabman

From Esperanto and surzhik sign language interpreter
Snow on the Champs Elysees
speaks for itself, voila. 

Dropdead will scribble for my story
My conscience is Dania Pornorap, yeah
Here is the storyteller Norman Mailer, Corey Taylor
Legend of Nevsky Prospect, but not Weller

Fucked Freken Bock, because behind the propeller
Plus with one glance he bent silver like Uri Geller
Orgies in hotels, on me with blood Helter Skelter

Young Werther flew off into space like a Belka with an Arrow
Ruler, shift, new school, trenk and brenk
For me, the master is Skepta, you are a meter with a cap
Lei Courvoisier in the ground your friend, artist

Le Corbusier, my text is brutalism
Cozy pier, meat of Chilean sea bass
A- well, quickly recovered and fucked
Seaplane noise on the river surface

Sex toys in hand luggage
And if it ruins me, Conkubin is being fucked by the Succubus
I am the blasphemous copulation of the gargoyles with the abbot
Your taste is platinum, mine is a spider’s web with a bow of patina

Che, how are we going to fuck you?
Your mother has a new Benz, money for maintenance and benz
How so? Easy – your grandmother OnlyFans
I have three lemas, although I look like a bum

This is an ultra-thin drip, you will not understand
You from head to toe in obvious brands, like a loshara
I have a vintage beret taken from a murdered clochard

Antiques, Oscar Wilde and Huysmans
Victorian decadence for me an aphrodisiac
Cabaret and Verete, the caret of the

Liberté singers , the throne is empty, the Moors in Paris
According to Babel, I’m a Jew and a half
Previously Coucher Avec Moi, only if ménage à trois

Mademoiselle averts her eyes, I dreamed of you.
It’s time for your youths to retire
[?] Without SNILS I dreamed of dawn

Rising underground, and for a long time
My value grows with age, this is good wine, In vino veritas
We are out of time, my Danny Daniel Lismore

Restart the old brand, BOTTEGA VENETA
Smoke up, the parnassus is empty, the pegasus is down An
artist is always a narcissist and a Nazi

Abuse of oneself and loved ones – the price of a verse
Maybe it’s possible differently, but for now
I’m the son of Liteiny Bridge

Killed classicism, this aesthetics is simple
Baby doesn’t like my city for a reason
. crosses the shadow of two prisoners and the dead Christ

MSC, you are for Themis booty call
Blindfold yourself, squads past boutiques
The court will not save the status, not clicking eblom

already called in intercoms, an asterisk awaits grille
foie gras, you’re engaged in a struggle with the regime of

fig in the pocket has become dried figs
and above us water column
Dom Perignon from the beaches on the Patriarch’s Ponds

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