Song meaning of ФуФ (FuF) by Loqiemean

Ah, the poetic genius of ФуФ (FuF) by Loqiemean! Now, let's tackle the deep, intricate meaning behind these profound lyrics. So, here's my hilarious interpretation:

In this lyrical masterpiece, Loqiemean takes us on a journey through a mystical realm where high-hats beat consistently, symbolizing the rhythmic stability that eludes us in the chaotic world. As he gazes through the lens of love at Hi-Hat, Loqiemean finds solace in the fact that bliss can be found outside oneself. The lyrics then take a twist into the realm of technology, where Loqiemean pokes fun at those who are obsessed with the latest gadgets, wishing for a return to simpler times, perhaps even a trip back to China. And oh, the metaphors keep raining down like "бы" (by) from the heavens! Fear, like a nosy neighbor spying through the window, grips Loqiemean, whose existence resembles a maral deer trapped in a pot of its own sweat. The claim is made that there is wisdom lurking in their pretentiousness, just as there is a tiny noose hanging from a chandelier. But fear not, dear listener, for Loqiemean kindly advises us to focus not on who we want to become, but on who we want to die as. And if you refuse to indulge in childishness, well, you're doomed to a life of aimless bumming around. Reflecting on the past fifteen years, Loqiemean suggests that surviving a knife to the gut is unlikely to leave one feeling particularly lively. Ah, the memories of hiding from God in a garage while playing hide and seek, only to stumble upon a red pair of jeans and forget our troubles. A horse, who turns out to be nothing more than a deceptive companion, betrays Loqiemean repeatedly. But fear not, for our artist nourishes himself with iron pancakes and yoga. He warns us that his rap is heavy, so brace your ears for the onslaught of a chewed-up flow that is reminiscent of a court jester mocking the audience. Yes, he has minced the meat of this song for your enjoyment, much like a grandma chewing her food before allowing you to taste it. But wait, there's more! The song takes a dig at snobs who follow a pre-determined mold, claiming to be as unique as a first-grader cutting snowflakes. Loqiemean confesses to knowing a lot and remembering little, for he is a millennial yearning for more RAM. And of course, there's his ever-vigilant keyboard critic, drooling with anticipation for his mistakes, only to be disappointed by the absence of Loqiemean's bladder. Oh, the artist grows, much like mushrooms do on mistakes. As for the listeners, their survival depends on these very mistakes, nothing more. The song then takes an unexpected turn, inviting us to join in on a catchy chant of "check mate," paying homage to the success that has eluded us on the streets, but might be found on the highway. Alas, we sold our last remaining gunpowder to fools, who probably wasted it on something useless. This is the whimsical reality we find ourselves in, my friends. Despite being exhausted, we can simply lie down and rest, but Loqiemean kindly requests one thing from his friend, Roma: please, just breathe. Inhale-exhale, repeat. Inhale-exhale, repeat. And so on, as the song fades away, urging us to embrace life's simple rhythm. Bravo, Loqiemean, bravo!