I had a principle
|
And hundreds of thoughts for shots
|
Bass is low and tight
|
Without mystery melts with loved ones
|
Statistician, having fucked the top, get out of the world in English
|
Enter into hip-hop in Russian
|
Rolls on a stone, the cornerstone
|
Justify fawn, fucking money troubles
|
I hide dirty deeds from the cameras, I sparkle with rollers
|
big brother sucks big mouthfuls
|
Blinking distant us paranoid syndrome
|
Like a timer, I swing the days in the cancan
|
When I go with my brothers, we harp here
|
Starch the blizzard, foolish varieties
|
Putting on a jacket, pressing on the pedals
|
Contrary to expectations, we threw a bit
|
Or the days of burning for bullshit on the channel
|
Or rot from the screw on the courts, on the block
|
I had the principle of being honest
|
I won't become famous
|
But to the local guys, I suddenly cracked on the speaker
|
I didn’t get into the game for a long time, what the hell am I?
|
I thought I saw all the faggots in baseball caps
|
You are a rapper, no? |
Maybe you are a rapper, no?
|
Everything I heard was just the cries of freaks on the Internet
|
It's a slow poison thieves caps are burning
|
Our squad here conducts a bloody rite
|
Fuck, from the very bottom of the edge of Russia
|
The messiahs have come
|
We kneaded a sound that your ears can't handle
|
Leave a bruise on a soft body
|
Hear, fagot
|
We are not alone here, there are many of us, it is dangerous
|
There is a cursor on the red button, the master is being prepared
|
Verse at a time, track at a time, plot at a time
|
You don't drive, but show what you're into, damn
|
I had a principle to get up and achieve
|
I extinguish rappers like a maniac from Bitsa,
|
But I won't pass the blitz poll
|
Fagots won't accept the provincial crisis
|
We flew like birds into a solid body
|
Entered spokes
|
Vultures fell, they wanted to, but in fact they were poisoned by whiskas
|
Squint in their eyes - flashes of fear and hatred
|
Excitement always burns in mine, slogans of facts and loyalty
|
There is no turning back on this path
|
I want to get out of poverty
|
So now I'm launching a projectile
|
For you to open your jaws
|
Exploded heads, shells flew
|
New school as Skepta,
|
But old school - how big, stork and belik
|
Tightly covered with a bit
|
For the underground I am a guide
|
The thirty-ninth braid is coming
|
A moment, two, and you're already shaved
|
The principle has always been
|
And it's all here for him
|
Basically, I am a sectarian
|
Presectal instead of a cross - micro
|
The cross on the neck warms the soul
|
When I step in the wrong direction, it suffocates
|
Fuck the beat like Iron Mike fuck the pear |