This is a production from Smokey Moe, son! I don't want to pay to the bank I put my ruby heart in the pawnshop I'm lonely, white, on the surface of credit cards I need to find myself, I need to dive into a bottle of Bashmils I smear my thoughts on the remains of my tower I keep my fears in my fists like lighters The past is burning, not warming up, but I don't feel sorry for it Fractals are falling apart From cheap brands, forever young Hero of the silence, like Mickey Mouse My pain will not stop, the factory is boiling I fall asleep in order to start all over again I don't want to distinguish you, I won't say what I don't care about And let's just say, I'm even glad that I'm not alone, I feel bad I was born with a feeling that I was deceived I have a revolver, but in the drum there is only one bullet If not, then the verse is not for you Break the showcase with a brick in an attempt to change something I don't want anything back I got my gun, my swag I don't want anything back Dead or good or nothing I seem to have entrusted myself to a deck of cards The scars of the lines of life on my hands are eternal Like whores, jeans and Big Mac I fell on a cold floor The cigarette is smoking and the soul is playing The red spot takes the coffee It seems that someone splashed the wine Yellow ribbons are like garlands, dude And celebrities caress me with flashes of cameras One empty case of gunpowder on whiskey See you in your most pleasant dream I got my gun, my swag I don't want anything back I got my gun, my swag I don't want anything back I got my gun, my swag I don't want anything back I got my gun, my swag I don't want anything back Anything back