Разговор с критиком

He came face killer
Overlooking the evil bloodsuckers ,
He said that he is my critic
And my goodness desirability ,
That he supposedly calm my low
Aesthetically not a short ,
I shit , and he - Belinsky ,
All this frenetic .

Indignant that I am dirty,
Willfully , ugly
Nasty word - & quot; orgasm & quot;
Sing with impunity .
& quot; You 're not just songs lepish -
In our morality metish you !
Orgasm for you answer ,
Gad will , I bet ! & Quot;

I am ashamed zaohala ,
Began to ask forgiveness .
He thought to himself : & quot; bad thing ,
This can bite & quot ;.
Inflamed it immensely,
I would like to offend .
& quot; You do nudist probably !
And still wearing glasses !

No, it would sing about the tent and fire,
About how we are not afraid of rain gloomy !
But you sat down as malicious tapeworm ,
In the womb tormented culture!

culture -
Mul'tur ,
Kul -kul -kul -kul ,
Mul - mul - mul - mul .

Bad I did not open .
Drowned Mu-Mu , I confess .
Everything I say in all confess,
Just do not lead to execute .
This I bombed the Balkans,
I tortured Corvalan ,
And Alexander Mirzayan
I was planning to kill him.

What drink polish,
So sit down to write a hack .
Pedestal native culture
I scratch nail.
Slanderer and calumniator ,
Seducer of young girls ,
And anyway, I - doctor- pest
Come to the reception!
   

If there is a paradise where the bards -
I shall not get there .
If there where hell for bards,
Then burn me in hell.
And in the garden there are tents,
Khalyavnykh all around -
Tea thick and sweet vinegar ,
And only songs that :

Hail to the tent and fire,
Our system humane , tourism development,
Leads people to victory in A Minor .
Everything else - revisionism .

And angry Guardian
For someone else's virtue
With me for these songs
Penance imposed .
He says you shall , at least I burst ,
Write one hundred and twenty songs
On Tourism and the Forest
All the blood instead of ink.

I thought : & quot; get, hateful !
Cho do you want something , man?
Seraphim you six-winged ,
Well pluck my sinful tongue ! & Quot;
I listened , clapped ears ,
And when very tired,
What I said out loud : & quot; Ass ! & Quot;
Then he fainted .

But since then, the soul no rest ,
And from this experience
Somehow I had Athanasius Fet
The striker Ivan Barkov Semenycha .

He thrashed his brass knuckles,
Sentenced at the same time :
& quot; I have come to you with greetings
Tell that the sun has risen ,
What mannered poets
Expressed not stuck & quot ;.
A Barkov Sorry,
Burned poem about Luke .
That such is the sign
I dreamed fool .

But I wrote a song spite of enemies ,
As one beloved couple
By the fire , in a tent, with a guitar
Received a fiery orgasm .