The fucking days have come, a lot of money when I need it
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No one, all fucked up, investors were dying
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Some fled, fled, made up for what they had gained
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Some got burned well, which is what Noise and Candy do
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He continues to play with his dick in the sun, so pa’ne vers
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We record when there is cash, but we are mostly without
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We suffer, we suffer, until we recover again
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And sometimes they don't want us, so let's dig everything into our heads
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Hippies-hops on that microphone fart
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No profit, but at least we don't lose anything
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There is no bigger spa than when they show us respect
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When they say we know knowledge and that tail is not bullshit to us
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But at the same time, it's high time we heard a few cents
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What debt to repay, to pay the producer
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I am a man of flesh and blood, which kills the heads from the bag
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15. I don't have money anymore, and I'm tired of waiting for 1
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There's no beetroot bread, but I plug the mic
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Not to sound like a dilapidated, well-trained vers
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But the effect is the same because I work 8 hours at work
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Who is silly and angry when I see where I am
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I used to think that a cake would burn
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To buy a new Bear of one thousand two hundred
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So let me go around the places, but I'll wait
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Pasala tries and let God know which notebook
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Yeah, but it's a shame, I'm not your gang
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Hard work, it will never bother me
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And it's not a mistake to say I won't stop
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Or fuck it, I'll stop when I'm too old
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He took the verse from my mouth, really this dirty tail
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Fuck… dark hat… it's all bloody bread
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I get hunchbacked because I wear ems on my legs
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Rmbačim, dragging the scene on the hump
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And I would like to touch the breast, eat tiramisu
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But I go thirsty across the water like a dehydrated Jesus
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They keep me in the lurch, fate is cruel
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For some, life is a mother, for me an evil stepfather is a surrogate
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No performance, yawning… snoring or napping
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Hungry for money and glory, my intestines are cramping
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I turn black, my ribs twitch, I become gray-haired
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I have age spots, a single bed like Sherlock Holmes
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No Dr. |
Watson, just a sad violin
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And the memory of the days when I was a lima
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I want to fuck, drink and eat
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Not to crawl like a drunken salamander
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Aaaa, Candy called me
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To come to the studio to be a guest on the song
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Aaaa, why Candy, why?
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To save my rap career, add ash
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Aaaa, make a bit, record
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You tease, you tease people, but who cares
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Upload to YouTube for people to click
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But they won't buy an album and everything in the cunt
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They won't be on the list if they're not on the list
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I remember the day we got into the story
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They tripped the stage and people raised their hands
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And now we work for the badge, as if we were a pig
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I told Candy I couldn't djemdo
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Because the studio is in town, and I don't have transportation
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And I watched the news when it took control
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He takes your passport and impales you
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Dzukki on the lane, we pull loners
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I have a bunch of stale lines, sorry to throw
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I raise my arms, even if I don't like you
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The publisher says: "every text you write is a failure"
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I'm part of the simple world, it just bothers me
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I've been fucking around since last summer
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The fox got sick and dried like a branch
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And no one will come with me, only a black raven
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Yes, I will change the world and all the problems from before
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To do a tail job from 9 to 5
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To look at myself on the screen, not to rap for food
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I don't have a stomach, which is why my anus goes after my throat
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I roll my heart in a bandana to the biggest fan
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When they offer a record deal I will tell them I am moved
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To get the job done, you picked a watermelon with me
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I was sent to earth, you bastard, to jog and sharpen a truncheon
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The rapper's call makes me hang up
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Except when I let go of the bit - then I pierce my ears with a drill
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Because this work of Sisyphus requires Tantalus' torments…
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It is better to clean the promenade when our pants are already long…
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And wide, and young like a goran, I want to drive a Cherokee
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Not dads, but Boki's!
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So I'm waiting for a check like Halley's Comet
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While fate strikes me with a hammer like Jackie Chan's Achilles' heel
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And I catch myself looking at FIFTH like a target
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Animals wear fur, I don't even have a heel for a Corvette…
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And fuck this life - a whore without imagination!
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When the one who is softer and softer settles tips in bags
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And as soon as I order and overdo it with the rhyme
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I exaggerate coal or rumble on a construction site, it's easier
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From this perspective… |