| good luck fuckers
|
| Everywhere fuck to catch up as fuck on a wheelbarrow
|
| We are the ones who think differently
|
| We inhale fresh air and exhale hot
|
| This smoke is alluring with its property
|
| For some it's a mirage, for some it's a real world
|
| Those who do not cough must understand these arguments of ours
|
| Watch the vegetable eat
|
| He blew your heads
|
| We don't need a drummer, saxophone and guitar
|
| Our bucket will drive us for nothing
|
| We procrastinate this minus like a cigar from Cuba
|
| These words are as elementary as a sail
|
| They will help us get to the shore
|
| We cut our own way
|
| Just don't touch with your hands
|
| The economy will tax you cruelly
|
| You won't last long if you don't believe in God
|
| No matter how the Volga knocks you down
|
| Or get fucking electrocuted
|
| In this life everything is strict
|
| She's like in a haystack
|
| Settled inside the universe
|
| And you must be brave
|
| To find your business
|
| And manage it skillfully
|
| So that the fucking cop doesn't circle him with chalk
|
| Even though I'm just a mortal for big bosses
|
| Having reasons, don't think flat
|
| We eat for all the raspberries
|
| Not for blunt nipples
|
| Not for the hit parades
|
| There is only one prose in my rhymes
|
| I heard a lot of funny stories
|
| But my rapper is not from this category
|
| Bombs in my hands
|
| I hold it like a saxophone
|
| And if you are a motherfucker, then I have nothing to do with it
|
| We are in all seriousness, although it's funny to us
|
| We go further past the districts
|
| You have here every first ala don't fuck
|
| Any toys for grandmas, but you can finish playing
|
| Through fire, water and copper pipes
|
| My labors lead you into a stupor
|
| Night on span dynamics yells non-stop
|
| Since the second year, my carts and fishtops have been hanging
|
| Well, why did you stand up as if rooted to the spot
|
| Bring the bat soon
|
| Let's open someone's eyes
|
| Someone will consider it a fool
|
| To cloying faggots that my people do not understand the truth
|
| The bald masad spreads its leaves there
|
| Rap like this not for fucking contracts
|
| Words don't suck and a hundred out of a hundred fall into the beats
|
| Try it gone, how I cook a rep
|
| I'm making a cake, and you're not blowing out the candles
|
| And this evening I will provide you
|
| After listening, listen to something easier
|
| Take it easy on you I say
|
| Think what I'm doing bitch
|
| I cook, I cook, I cook, I cook, I cook
|
| Smeared on the hare once kivar
|
| Now we are growing up and the sounds have become clearer
|
| I don't give a fuck that our quality has long exceeded a thousand
|
| We will not change, no matter how you ask
|
| This is not our porridge and knead it yourself
|
| MPS or Frutti lu on your bamse about a thousand pricks
|
| And so on and so on and on
|
| I will rap until I become a monkey
|
| I will rap until everyone is human
|
| I will do rap and fuck me understand |