| A, a
|
| Hera, Hera
|
| Hera, Hera
|
| Hera, Hera, Hera
|
| Hera is fresh, young
|
| In white polo
|
| If everyone wants a throne, then rap is a game of thrones
|
| Tons of pon or wagons of cola from tables
|
| With whom do you share blood? |
| Who are you standing at the microphone with? |
| BUT
|
| Sleepy people will go back to sleep in concrete
|
| Then I'll set up the microphone, forgetting about sleep
|
| I put it all on the line, pulling my hood
|
| Are you talking about style, boy? |
| But your rap is Cherkizon, whoa
|
| How do they follow the fashion, but their rap with the wrong code of another breed
|
| Who are you?
|
| My frequencies are with me, lines are honey, now I will fill these honeycombs
|
| What year do we spoil beats, crush flowers
|
| I am where the bridges prevent you from reaching the house half a verst
|
| There is shame in your eyes, they have long cooled down
|
| People rotted, selling their souls for abundance
|
| Killa Twet is young, ice temple, scourge, but I'm cold
|
| This house is closed, I'm not looking for a reason to sleep long
|
| Every new day the cobra stings and angers you
|
| Wicked old Compton
|
| Tokyo Honda, Uzi, Maine, I'm assembled
|
| Beach, my dogs set your house on fire, fragile bitch with me, Chinese porcelain
|
| Yeah, I got up early, I'm already on the run
|
| E-e, but you got up so late, this is your hundreds of troubles, yea
|
| Killa is your death, my time creeps up so slowly
|
| These niggas only respect the new covenant, I breathe white like Solid Snake
|
| Fuck, who are you sharing mike with?
|
| With whom do you share your couple of secrets?
|
| With whom every day you are in good, but in these bad ones my park will hide you underground
|
| There are so many, many herbs, there are so many, your bitch will open its fountain,
|
| I'm so, I'm so young, dem
|
| Little did I know, I'm in the subject after those long years, maine
|
| The streets are afraid to die, there are so many cripples
|
| I don't give a fuck what you say, fuck how you say
|
| Byach, did you come to tell me that you are OJ?
|
| All I hear is a child's cry
|
| Wheelbarrows, legs, arms, hey, quickly see what you need
|
| Hear the bark day and night
|
| House, nine, guns, Tommy V. Aikiay you gotta do the same style you were
|
| Dam, I'm like super (tr-tr), laciantic swirl
|
| We cook only the highest crack, a lot
|
| The most complete quasi-joule, Everest from the underworld
|
| Lyric side, we fuck, Dop Club, neon body in the dance, ha
|
| This bitch knows a lot
|
| Here is an amino-species backflip
|
| Already in the house does not lose two fish
|
| Love, sea, field, dear, dig a little more
|
| Homey don't run, the avalanche imagines itself to be a god
|
| You intentionally wrote
|
| On the hood is a young clip lik
|
| Kinomode day bi like a fucking brain
|
| Vice City outside the window, fuckers, hey
|
| My tribal salon, no, this is not a dream
|
| I'm wearing a white backpack, I'm ready for everything
|
| I throw a lot of rubbish into my extinct brain
|
| I go into the night |