| It's hard-o-o-r! |
| It's hardcore that can't be cured
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| Bracho, let's do it humanly
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| This is hardcore turn up the volume
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| Walking along the edge do not fall into the abyss
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| This song won't break
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| Then turn up your speakers
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| Now green tea, before green tea
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| Now Ritter Sport, before only Alyonka
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| Now Alpen Gold, earlier Alyonka
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| Cork, bottle, red film on the eyes
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| Palyonka vodka, sweet soda
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| Overdose is not visible behind the tint (finally)
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| It's a very long walk to the next house (fucked up)
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| I scored for the gym, for sports for training (fuck everything)
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| Understandable to many, the message is deep (deep)
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| Poured opium regimen was strict (strict)
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| Broke bones in a concrete block (violent)
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| Hail thrown into sweat, tired legs
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| Forgot the origins, looking for instincts
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| You didn't fall, did you? |
| Don't you fuck
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| Rubbed for life in the psychiatric ward
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| I read their thoughts, there are parasitic words in their heads
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| I know, man, hip-hop can't be cured
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| Lives in the underground, not commercial
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| When firing, the recoil is like that of the "Stechkin"
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| And there is no recognition except sincere
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| I know, man, hip-hop can't be cured
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| Lives in the underground, not commercial
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| When firing, the recoil is like that of the "Stechkin"
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| And there is no recognition except sincere
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| Around as if a fool, brother, but we will not be tied sleeves
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| Planned escape. |
| Well, you don't know Russian?
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| I am my boy and I will cook something delicious for you
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| Unless, of course, Buzova howls in headphones
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| Already the old men, but let's let the young shit
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| Rookies will get lost like turtles in their shells
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| In the presence of danger, if we fermented
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| Kentish will help with bass and beat, our dirty style
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| Millions of roads and paths of the unfaithful were trampled
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| For a fool barefoot now with dead sneakers
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| What is hardcore, I will tell the boys easily
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| Salam, Rostov. |
| We piss on cop dogs
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| Wunch-punch gram 100, locomotive, pair of oars
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| Tusa-dzhusa will rush. |
| Hey beauties, don't be afraid of us
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| We have a conscience and this is not the whole feature
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| And you are chasing fashion, don't fucking disgrace yourself
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| You know who I am and what my name is, nigga
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| Do you love vibe mate or do you smoke white widow
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| Our songs chill like Sub-Zero
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| Bass beats so that your sub moved from its place
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| Street veterans are Morphine, Brasi, Duby
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| Us sound, as always, the most unfashionable will be taken
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| We read not for glory, the sound is killed for fun
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| I came up with my own style, your credit in the mortgage
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| Didn't pay a dime, they gave us a beat like that
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| Morphine with Doobie M.O.P., well Brazy Big Pun
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| I throw grams in split, but not smoke, but meaning
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| Smoked for 16 years, there is no point in smoking already
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| Many boys have a sour head from smoking
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| And how many boys are sitting from Tula to Noginsk
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| There are no lavashek at Winston, only Dubao and Milano
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| And how many rappers were naming my dick with their lips, listen
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| I know, man, hip-hop can't be cured
|
| Lives in the underground, not commercial
|
| When firing, the recoil is like that of the "Stechkin"
|
| And there is no recognition except sincere
|
| I know, man, hip-hop can't be cured
|
| Lives in the underground, not commercial
|
| When firing, the recoil is like that of the "Stechkin"
|
| And there is no recognition except sincere |