I open my eyes to nowhere, people out of the zone.
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Sterile captivity, where my sick rap matured in honeycombs.
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Slang is beyond the norm, there is not much money.
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A pack of seven acres, a locomotive, a palenka, cream soda strictly with it.
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Hey, Roma, in da coma, catacomb child.
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Welcome to the age of cyborgs, devices and pestilence.
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The world is sleeping outside the window, take a screenshot - it's just a moment.
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This is the lesser of evils, bro, so live the movie.
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Live - don't get sick, kent, you drink - don't be Serbian, don't touch my rap.
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What did the people from the block do here for a long time, tag croc.
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My staff arose among the ruins in the places of struggle,
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Christ and darkness, I'm just the mouth of war, I'm tired of living like this.
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I smell blood under the snow, pain under the armor,
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Pricked with a demon's fingernail once upon a time and forever.
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I survived, you see son? |
No fools! |
I survived! |
See, son!
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And I will not forgive you the grave that you dug for me.
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I darned the banner in the shadow of the ruins of broken buildings;
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He whined and barked, smoked and lost his memory and knowledge.
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I followed them, followed you, looked for brothers.
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He threw files and a banner. |
Hear you! |
I did not sleep - I stroked.
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Take an oath to be next to my brave squad.
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For a long time, the steel was gathering dust, waiting, I will give a start, then.
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In the distance I see someone throwing signs at us there.
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Hey where from bro? |
Suitcase clan, boy!
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I sculpted it from night to morning. |
I will carry my banner through the yards.
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My banner, as the whole essence and guarantor. |
Who to be, what to love, what to dirty your hands about.
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I sculpted it from night to morning. |
I will carry my banner through the yards.
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My banner, as the whole essence and guarantor. |
Who to be, what to love, what to dirty your hands about.
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My path is like a dream, among the dunes of sand, steep and mountains,
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Storms and waves, troubles and wars, all year round, violent background.
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Beat in the head, down the river my way, life is free,
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After all, where he tried to go there, he closed, the turnstile hung.
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And people got up, killed the last one - any attack in themselves;
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And everyone smokes from the edge. |
Know bro, this principle is everywhere.
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Bad move. |
He called to a couple of brothers and gave them a brush;
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And he gave them a thought, and it got better, fuck it.
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And someone's sour verse is already. |
Rip, alas.
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There was a lot of crying, but suddenly Claudia took the click and killed
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And dug a hole; |
and threw everything he had at her! |
-
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At least drool, at least tin, at least for the club, at least a protest.
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Oh, my formidable critic - meat lover, judge of hell:
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I do not ask for mercy, because my Mouzon for you is bullshit, carrion.
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Kill my rap and leave it here, dead on a raft.
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My people will gently push, I will move into the void. |