Recorded at Punk Garage "Glotka"
Recording and mixing - Dmitry
Cover - Konstantin

For a month now, I have been cut off from my native taiga, pazik (old country bus), overgrown paths and half-rotten pieces of wood! And it really hurts like hell!! When you are pulled out of your usual habitat, for some reason you start to get bored and love what you hated before, but it’s not even worth talking about things that you loved before.

This release was recorded a couple of days before my departure from Irkutsk. I didn't have the time, energy, or resources to record something fully, but with the help of Dmitry, we were able to rush to record some rehearsal, inspired by 15 hours of pushing in the sports club, anime sessions with cola and chips, an attempt to refuse eating meat, torturing Konstantin with soy texturate and pasta with acid for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Many thanks to Dmitry ABD for the opportunity to leave something before moving cities and band Factory Reset for the inspiration for the recording.

Now I'm vehemently eager to gather people from Siberia or at least from the Urals to shake my cock from the stage again, that's why the release is called like that. If you like the theme of the songs and you play something, then I will be glad to meet you!

Petersburg is too a comfortable and chill city, full of all kinds of services. There is nothing easier than drowning in an abundance of food, entertainment, parties, concerts, getting lost in the web of avenues with many attractions at every turn. Loving St. Petersburg is easier than sleeping through the first lesson on Saturday. Becoming part of the crowd in line to enter the Mc'Donalds is easier than not paying fares on Moscow buses. Most of everyday life you see a huge beige array of life's blessings, to which you only need to stretch out your hands, and I once and for all call this array my enemy! This plantation of creative intelligence was raised on the blood and bones of my ancestors, the stones were dragged into the swamps on the humps of farm laborers, and streets were paved over the corpses, where mannequins now roam in trench coats with diluted pupils and beer in paper bags (but usually they have coffee in a cup), arguing why Vasya Erokhin, after 2 shifts at the aircraft factory, is not engaged in self-development in his shitholetown. Now I see for whom my friends, relatives, acquaintances, fellow countrymen hunchback in the mud and devastation at shitty jobs for a penny. They are hunched over so that the electric buses run on smooth roads under the protection of the National Guard, so that the cost of cars parked on the side of the road is equal to the budget of the city-forming enterprise, so that there are employees of the authorities around every corner and I can feel safe, so that I go into the five and see the king crab at a discount. I am torn from indignation and injustice every second of being on the street, every second when I hear an argument between Muscovites and Petersburgers about whose metro is more problematic. My home is Irkutsk, my birthplace and my favorite city is Angarsk. So it was, is and always will be. Now I am in the metropolis, in the cultural capital on an S rank mission, in order to draw attention to the fact that my house at least exists and is not located near Kamchatka or Ufa, that there are not devils and orcs living there, there is at least something other than food supply. I really want to go home, but it's still too early, I hope that when I return from Russia to Siberia I will be the best version of myself. To all my friends with whom I do not communicate or communicate too rarely, hello! Do not hold evil, I think about you every day, I miss you horribly!