emoslut666 - мария айден

emoslut666-эмо....э..эм...э...эмо

emoslut666 - табачный дым

слезы кипяток-emoslut666

quqkiie feat. emoslut666 - опарыши

Emoslut666 - Очередной Сквирт

косточки

рассвет

emoslut666, xvnki - наши дыхания (prod. xvnki)

emoslut666, xvnki - 130бпм (prod. emoslut666, xvnki)

emoslut666, xvnki - грустный ребёнок (prod. xvnki)

[Lyrics]

“Step right up, folks, it’s that time of year,
the 208th Excrement Rain of Cheer.
Last year the prudes shut it all down—
muttered ‘cholera’ and ‘sickening town’.
But the Heritage Club stood proud and tall,
crying, ‘Two hundred years, we cannot let it fall!’
The ministry smiled, said, ‘We’ll co-sponsor the stink—
public funds for the glory of this holy brink.’”

You wrap your madness in a history bow,
call it “heritage” so you never outgrow.


Holy legacy, holy shit,
if you can’t say why, then it is not.
Tradition’s just an alibi you wear to dodge the thought—
is it needed or not? That’s the only shot.
If all it gives is plague and pride,
let the “sacred custom” choke and die.



Old men polishing a sewage crown,
“Without this rite, our town breaks down.”
They spray perfume on septic years,
drown the stench in patriotic tears.
“Look, the state believes in our cause,
they pay the bills, they clap, they pause.”
But power loves a circus ring—
keep the herd distracted, they won’t change a thing.

You call it culture, but it’s just decay,
a fossil with a PR day.


Holy legacy, holy shit,
if you can’t say why, then it is not.
Tradition’s just an alibi for cowards scared of thought—
is it needed or not? Answer that or rot.
If all it spreads is filth and shame,
stop engraving it with your father’s name.



Children cough in the holy fog,
flies make halos in the bog.
“Hold your nose and clap on three—
this is our identity.”
You pass infection like a flag,
call it “roots” while futures sag.
“Since our elders bathed in waste,
we must keep the sacred taste.”

Pain in costume is still just pain,
a curse that marches down the chain.


Holy legacy, holy shit,
if you can’t say why, then it is not.
Tradition’s just an alibi when reason’s gone to pot—
is it needed or not? That’s the only plot.
If all it does is chain the young,
let that anthem leave your tongue.



If you stripped the word “tradition” from this scene,
you’d call it madness, not “our dream”.
If it started now, you’d scream and run,
but stamp it “old” and it’s suddenly fun.
“Always” is the laziest law,
“we’ve always done it” is rot in the core.
Necessity is the only plea—
everything else is coward’s decree.

Ritual without reason is a cage in disguise,
a corpse on a throne, wearing yesterday’s eyes.


Holy legacy, holy shit,
if you can’t say why, then it is not.
Ask one question: “Who is healed? Who is hurt? Who is bought?”
Is it needed or not? That’s the final shot.
Burn the script that poisons breath,
let dead customs meet their death.


What matters is will and what future you feed—
never worship chains,
never crown a rotten deed.

Legacy of Sacred