Yo, I'm walking the city on rubber soles
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Czarna 65, I carry a boombox in my hands
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I drown the city in sounds, I will kick the gray out the door
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On each lantern, you hang without your imagination
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Blurred, transparent as phantoms
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Several thousand poltergeists on the streets of Wawa
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Sheet music like Packman is catching monsters
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Deafly in Fakt, a trap flew out at Wiertnicza
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On the roof of the car, the b-boy skunk makes paws
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Danny Drumz plays funk, I put the speakers on the roofs
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It's rap - punch for punch, it's high ceilings
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Even though it's not cash per gram, you also get into trouble here
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Today it's an extreme jam, a city in ruins
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Keys, subculture has taken control today
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Everyone else is asleep and will be shocked in the morning
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The city is supposed to be the same, but where so many colors come from
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It's JAM!
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I have invitations to jam, how many? |
A few pieces
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Because the scene is changing, here is the selection of empty heads
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The idiot lies on his back and still believes he's playing
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Hey rappers! |
Who is fresh from WWA now?
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Me, because the market is now measuring it with a different measure
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And to survive, loud screaming is not enough today
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I'm sick of these knights, energy and style today
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Because MC is the one who can put you in the mouth without hands
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Kings of WWA you have such a habit here
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If someone has something to do with you, settle them quickly
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Too late today, this avalanche has already started
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Seasonal pop stars, I advise you to hold on tight
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A well-adjusted engine is running
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A well-educated student suggests
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And this virus was in the air, Hybrid and Alpha
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In our heart, a generation of lyrical killers
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Yo, I smoke majki, and today I smoke cliché and cliché
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The world is asleep, I am packing a surprise for him under my pillow
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The march continues, the rap is playing, and the lamp is carried through the estates
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No mercy, a day to settle accounts with shit
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They are lines, rhymes, stanzas and words
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These are records from many nights and only editorial
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A thousand from one night, a thousand words from the estate
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To reconcile the form with the content, to get to the point
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There are so many things, the mission is one
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And the elite thinks rap generation on its pedestal
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It's jam, you screw up that tacky burku
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I totally sweep this yard twice
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I have the power, rap purification plant
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Many words in the form of brooms, I fly them across Europe
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Worries for sweat, I have the power and a goddamn desire
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16 verses, the banality is screwing up |