Heels on the ground cyka!

Cheeki breeki iv damke!

Our glorius poem:

Slavs nest
Where semechki shells in piles,
Vodka and kvass bottles lie,
The air is full of the smell of cigars,
Sound of hardbass flies,
There you find the nest of slavs.

BY: Chris
Blyat is so beautiful, like eating mayonez 2am in the morning while playing S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Oppa blyat is scary renegades.