| Hey Hey!
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| What!  | 
| What!  | 
| What!
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| Rushing pack under canigum with cola,
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| Create a reason for Daria Dontsova.
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| The city sleeps, but gives us a word,
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| And the music will become the dance floor.
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| Rushing pack under canigum with cola,
 | 
| Create a reason for Daria Dontsova.
 | 
| The city sleeps, but gives us a word,
 | 
| And the music will become the dance floor.
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| I would drag Prada instead of the devil,
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| But it is hardly justified in the pits of the household quarter.
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| Let the laveha keep spinning,
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| Plus, the flat will read to us until the morning, as if together.
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| Street, lamp and pharmacy on Nevsky;
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| The street slept until dawn with stories;
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| Rap into a rolled echo from tin!
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| This hip hop is like
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| New GTA on other computers.
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| As if someone uninvited entered the portal
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| From another world and continues to live, as there.
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| Roar, baby!
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| No maximum speed in the ghetto.
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| The game itself can take an arsenal
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| And play with someone, lose with someone.
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| Comprende, I don't give a fuck what's in trend
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| I'm running through the haze under the money
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| Even if I'm on a bad trip,
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| Even in a Bentley, like Kendrick.
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| You are boiling on the side!
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| You will give out a rag for a thing.
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| No, you will betray people anyway,
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| What will not fit into handfuls.
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| I come to the party, as if to the post office -
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| There are so many stamps and bags of everything
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| What if you sell it, you get a three-ruble note,
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| In the center or on a windbreaker from Cent.
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| I'm bad at grading
 | 
| But I keep the underground syllable,
 | 
| And who sat down here with us
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| Will forever unravel the earth.
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| Ashes to ashes, sample to sample.
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| Intrigue rings in the windows
 | 
| Look, he is silent like a fish
 | 
| Wait, don't call, at 103, man
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| It's just an overdose of cypitril
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| Intrigue rings in the windows.
 | 
| Look, he is silent like a fish.
 | 
| Wait, don't call, at 103, man -
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| This is just an overdose of cypitril.
 | 
| Rushing pack under canigum with cola,
 | 
| Create a reason for Daria Dontsova.
 | 
| The city sleeps, but gives us a word,
 | 
| And the music will become the dance floor.
 | 
| Rushing pack under canigum with cola,
 | 
| Create a reason for Daria Dontsova.
 | 
| The city sleeps, but gives us a word,
 | 
| And the music will become the dance floor.
 | 
| Dance, dance, dance, dancefloor, bitch!
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| Dance, dance, dance, dancefloor, bitch! |