My name is Crazy Sound Zoom
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I will lead you into the depths by touch.
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Again metaphors, yes, f*ck, the smell of camphor,
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No matter how the West puffs up, I myself am in a * ey, soaring.
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Blind Ro masta rasta, I'm much more than once, listen,
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I saw your "gansta" - now * idoras, then cry-baby,
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So people don't have food for you, bir,
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The menu has brains and meat, thin-ghetto style.
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Hey, open up the ulcer, we don’t give a head start,
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Flow is a scrap standard, such a catch-fish!
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Without lava and medallions - these are not sounds for dancing,
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You can’t listen in a cassock, in a skirt, to the side, all lyas in ducks
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It will be instead of a meat grinder.
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My music is out of fashion
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Hello to the age of cassettes, barefoot not for the weather.
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Rap is impolite, like brass knuckles,
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And he will be in your house, leaving a dirty mark there.
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I walk along the red path, I was in love with this light,
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The strength is in my acid and you were hurt by it.
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Lover to make a boom, a meal for the younger ones, delve into it.
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No matter how much we want to, we continue to play
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In those labyrinths where sleep (something in the night sky)
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The boy's eyes are burning - it's almost magic.
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My handwriting is a look into the distance, a look at the floor, so the rite beckons.
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We can’t find words, we don’t stop creating.
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The sheets are written in an instant, we are a disappearing species,
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Today we will make a show, tomorrow we will open the cache.
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Those who have not lost their knack survive everywhere,
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Can easily get meat in a day without preparation.
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Four axes, shabby T-shirt, player,
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You know all the names, I go to the subway, the maestro is in action.
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There is a place to be, I send to Gukovo
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News, Minsk style, The planet is round.
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Be that as it may, somewhere here I am stuck up to my neck.
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A pit of sewage, they recently ate meat here.
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Shadow buried house, miserable; |
dangerous noise.
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The eye is aimed at the emptiness, the path in hell is a red train,
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What reaches out to the casemates, where they fuck the waterman in the morning.
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The crowd does not believe in pu-erh, weeks burn to the ground.
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The barrack is shrouded in smoke, stinks of sweat from the bodies, someone is undressed,
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Pulling heifers * Litor, substituting the ass under the chalk.
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What did you want, what did you want, what did you want?
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Tight bite? |
Corporate set? |
Exploded pack? |
Combined kissel?
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Look, uncle, the fattest, uncle, style is alive, uncle,
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I wouldn't scold old knives, uncle.
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Make a moment finn trip
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Someone will hear only a sob, and throw: "Like, you're in trouble."
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Here is Dee's guide and an amulet on his chest with ears,
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Rap inspires, the gun decides.
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You launched a rocket in vain, geek, gave yourself away,
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A bastard, a miscarriage, dug a pit, swam out to the nets.
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Loop under the ceiling, number "42",
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Elite is filled with compote "4 axes".
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Listen carefully!
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4 axes. |