I don't want to, don't want to, don't want to
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I do not want expert props, conclusions, rap flows from my veins here
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Don't throw coke on the table, enough clowns hungry for tinsel
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Yes, that's my voice - gangs, homies, slang, a rebellious scream
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Fuck old school, laps, new school, I have a reliable style here
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Fuck statistics, views, likes - one dick
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The MCs moan as if they were voicing their voice on RedTube
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They're so sad as if they are aware of their roles
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The king is back, the shoe is dead, because there is no, no, no, no
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There is no hip hop without slots, bboys, DJs, games
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Fake of the year, I eat dung mediocre without any remorse
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There is no scratch, no break, no more emotion in it
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Sea of sewage, in spite of fucking their marketing
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I don't want to chase CDs anymore, I don't want promotions and numbers
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I am the heart, the meaning of life, fresh air in my blood
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In a city with a heartbeat, content passes like smoke through a closed door
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Dense lines, you have amnesia, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to
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I don't want to talk about how many fleets I have and how many houses and cars I have
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I would lose my hands if I had to count all that cash at once
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Two decades on the road, you've got your imagination
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And then you don't know anything about what I have
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The scene hates me, the street respects me for being honest
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Heart, loyalty for years
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I owe nothing to anyone
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I have always been my banker
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For some, success is a pain in the can
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Beer lines, fame and fame
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For me, family, support from people
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Every win, the matter on the dogs
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This is my rap attack
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I don't want to, don't want to, don't want to
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I don't want the clapper's applause, I am aiming at the weakness of the wannabes
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Fuck rap suckers, IQ wallet money won't add them
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No chance for commoners, funk projects, my ground like Shaolin
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This is my gift for the verses, the murderer clan, the two of us and this beat
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I do not want to drive myself, stick to the clip in borrowed clothes
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Cheap snobbery, drugs and comedy, money won't make them an MC
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Look at the earned showbiz, yeh, bitch, give me the receipt
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I'm from Łódź, hungry for crime
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Take it, get it. I have it, I have it
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I'm fed up, fed up with «yolo» guests, shut them up
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You can doubt blocks, folks prefer remix, skunk and blues
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I am giving texts to the world, certain issues of the truth of my words
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To have prestige, respect brave, faithful people, always crowd
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I don't want thousands of fools under the stage, I prefer 100 wise ones
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I do not play concerts for pengas, gold passion adorns the brain
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I have no pressure, check it crazy, because the heart beats in the rhythm of the notes
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I prefer slack, Cole, rum, good drink, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to
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I don't want to talk about how many fleets I have and how many houses and cars I have
|
I would lose my hands if I had to count all that cash at once
|
Two decades on the road, you've got your imagination
|
And then you don't know anything about what I have
|
The scene hates me, the street respects me for being honest
|
Heart, loyalty for years
|
I owe nothing to anyone
|
I have always been my banker
|
For some, success is a pain in the can
|
Beer lines, fame and fame
|
For me, family, support from people
|
Every win, the matter on the dogs
|
This is my rap attack
|
I don't want to, don't want to, don't want to
|
I do not want props, experts, conclusions, rap flows from my veins here
|
Don't throw coke on the table, enough clowns hungry for tinsel |