When I’m not throwing rhymes I crisis, I don’t know about others
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The same feeling as when you don't have money and spit
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The new Hiphopium a sounds older than Full Moon
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Old School big poppa, rap boss, ghetto crown
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This is not an ego trip, this is self-confidence
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And when I'm not rich, I don't check the situation
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I'm realizing ideas, your speaker is laughing now
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Makes your wishes come true, they still want me (ha)
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For me, it’s all a matter of this solid atmosphere
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And don't let go, I don't know what rappers play on stage
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How they managed to say the words
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Their guillotines are torn, they need a shoemaker
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No energy, they need a Booster
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They don't see, they need a chandelier
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Fucking bitches, you've been blowing me for twenty years, I won't give you a mujsper
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I'm an old blacksmith, you're copying my patterns
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Blow it, while I rap, I want my hands up, Saifer
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I'm an old school lyric gangster, what is it?
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Ghetto music for the street, it will stay there
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Sit in the car, let everyone turn around loudly
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This is for me and for other FUs
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This is for the dark streets, for the Facebook of a male whore
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For ghetto asses, for underground passages
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The days to come, for the days that brought me here
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For dreadlocks for bald coals
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For all hip-hop kids around the globe
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For my brothers off the wall waiting a second
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With a fast train a new round
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Laid back wall in hood
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We needed a business for secondary raw materials
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How many bottles are empty, even if we broke the rails
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I remember when I was in Beovoz from Franša fur’o to Zemun garage
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He squatted in a barn, smoked hot water and no one kept watch
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Just a train, listening to the War Zone
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Dema and Dubi are waiting awake, agreed
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We beat the silver like horses
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We have to go to battle, four wagons a night
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It's fucking power, we all followed the flow
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Because man has nothing more valuable than freedom
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I follow the rules, don't let anyone mention the code to me |