Five brilliant artifacts of a mysterious programmer. I was lucky

Flocks of pigeons in the blue sky,

We could fly to the south,

To coo over the black sea,

And watch the sunset from the shore,

They could, but they don’t like it any better,

Than a breath of native air,

And a piece of dry bread,

They are free, peaceful, here,

Flocks fly under the clouds,

There’s no smarter bird to turn,

What about magnetic radars,

Find routes above the house,

They are equipped with wings,

Lighter than chicken feather beds, in this,

The vestments of the demigods,

So ordinary and yet not,

Ordinary looking ones only,

We’ll be friends forever,

Feed them out of hand en masse.

You must be scarier than Hell,

Once I call you proudly Varyag,

You moored with the stern,

I remember your kind look.

You must be scarier than Hell,

Once I was so angry in the war,

The storm of the seas has gone into eternity,

In the middle of the sky stood for the first time.

You must be scarier than Hell,

If time doesn’t count,

To the losses of soldiers that starley,

The era of destroyers calls.

Were you under oath,

Familiar to you,

The burden of duty, honor and glory,

I want to know what you

’re like, you were wounded without passing,

You went firmly to the enemy,

Or you were before the grave,

Ready to stand the world cursing,

To justify Zavara.

Wolf, you’re cool in captivity,

And tear with oblivion our famously,

But we are brothers by blood,

Together we shed and together we are,

For likhom you to the bear, on better,

Come, he sleeps soundly in the den,

But don’t wake up a sleeping bear,

After all, together with the dashing you will know the roar,

And the bear has it, oh, oh what,

Sit still, he might say,

Or will he wake up fraternally, so peacefully,

And you will embrace, shake the forest,

After all, he is the only owner and besides,

He knows the forest, he has lived a long time,

Teach the gray shaggy wisely,

And you will not be gray, but a kid.

There were many brave cowboys,

Where they are now, here, believe me,

Do you read the Koran, do you honor Krishna,

do you observe the Bible or the Torah?

You’re a Buddhist, you go to all the temples,

Anyway, I’ll be right, of course,

There are the living, there are the dead, Prado,

There are a lot of other brands,

Don’t forget the live ones,

We still have buckshot in our guns.

The most important thing is not to waste everything,

Put everything on the cherished right goal,

Wait for luck, it will be hard, but you are alive,

And alive, you’re better than dead, light it up.

There is no place for the living, in the kingdom of the saints,

They are icons, and not in the gut,

You can hit them if you can see their eyes,

Don’t blink, feel twice,

Be sure of your own example,

You find your way while you’re here,

While you’re awake, you go ahead,

But you’ll be set in stone if it comes,

Success and money, fame fuse,

Hit the target and take it, you are not lost.

You’re not protecting the boss,

The apple of your eye,

God you guard the camp,

So there will be nothing.

You’re not protecting the boss,

So there will be no one with him,

You’re protecting your name

,so you’re a hoo-hoo.

You’re not protecting the boss,

Machine gunner, smuggler,

If anything, call me, bro,

You’re an imperialist.

You’re not protecting the boss,

So you’re like a beautiful psycho,

In the rear of the bandits is a diamond,

Just like in the picture, the strongest.

Pasha got up on the clock,

They’re like a Mazda,

You hear the engine, and wah,

What is the basis for everything there?

If they twist Pasha’s hands,

Natasha won’t help either,

And we guys, in general,

We look at it through the Kalash.

If there are any problems there,

We don’t need polemics,

Solve them yourself, Nastya will say,

We’re sharper than a pencil.

When sudarushka arrives,

The fate of his suit is black,

Then you’ll get a pretty penny,

And to our hut prelai.

A cold email,

There are only lines of pain in it,

A feather is stuck in my heart,

It oozes blood,

And if you will,

He won’t come back,

I’m sorry, but we have stenches,

Like the marshes at the head of the bed.

Believe it or not,

But there are many turfs in life,

And if in the dawn of years,

You’re your own man, believe me.

When it arrives,

Only the north will save me,

And if you’re safe,

It will only be clover.

Your nickname, of course, is Watchdog,

Fits your collar,

You’re torn and I want to let go,

But you’re not coming back bandit bos,

I’ll let you go, but only for a moment,

If you run away, you’ll want to eat.

When you come back, I know where to look for you,

You’ll hide in

the yards opposite, You thoroughbred one, dragging your fate,

So, you’re not a mongrel, you should know

You went to the hunters, for nothing,

You don’t like cats to cheat.

City streets, schools, and burrs

Cars, soccer fields, like aliens,

We go to warehouses, gyms, and clubs,

We are like a detached generation, would,

But let’s just say we wanted to be like,

Our grandfathers and fathers, passed all the stages, a sign,