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In the morning I met my friend by the trash cans, throwing his old jacket in the trash. He took the memories and simply threw them in the trash, it seems that patches are probably not going to fly this year. When I hear Éček, Znouz and old Totáč, the nostalgia sometimes makes me want to cry a little. Beer mugs and a disoriented guitar, why did I not care about tomorrow back then. And today we drag it from paycheck to paycheck, during the week at work, on the weekend at the cottage, we each find some hobby and the punk brute is a tame rabbit. R: As the years fly by, people get older, the notorious guy in front of the drum bar told me. And from his breath I could clearly smell the smell of slivovitz. For a warm meal and a little coffee, people spend their lives in the factory. And it will be a good, good ten years when you were screaming like a beast at midnight, in front of nonstop, into the darkness full of sleeping houses Punk's not dead For a pittance you make an idiot in Mekáč and what's the difference, we're still punks. But the hair that's left is hard to stand up straight, at least our wallets are still full of holes. Where did all my friends go, they don't go out for beer on Fridays or Sundays. I meet foreign beauties at events in clubs and I get discounts for pensioners at festivals. R: As the years fly by, people get older, the notorious guy in front of the bumbarna told me. And from his breath I could smell the smell of slivovitz more and more. For a warm meal and a little coffee, people spend their lives in the factory. And it will be a good, good ten years since you screamed like a beast at midnight, in front of nonstop, into the darkness full of sleeping houses Punk's not dead