First couplet:
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Hey you, move your face away from me
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Yes, to hell with ambition. |
Yes, they are sailing on the forums there
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I know what's wrong cause I'm still hungry
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But I am clearly in my place. |
This is great bro
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I fanned for my people and I will not get tired in repetition
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I saw a lot and walked more than once on a thin thread
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Merged into cold St. Petersburg, was silent for a year, accumulated experience
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Startled behind him when he heard the clatter and beacons from the cops
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What's the matter: you can sew a cardboard folder
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And every day is vanity, so that there is something to eat
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In white slippers with stripes, and with a hood on the tower
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In the ears beatlo from the psycho, again coughed with rhymes.
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To say again about what cannot be kept silent
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The seal has been broken from the larynx. |
This guy is totally screwed
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Leaving underground with his blacks
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Marking your path with wilds, at the moment - with nerves
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Pali how this sound goes straight to your brain
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I grew up with it. |
Feeling the tail - dissolved from scratching
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The first micro-comb, the first weight and privacy of childhood in some rags,
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But with the proudest look
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I went to where there are fewer people, which means less noise
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Fewer words, at a minimum, and I hold this bar
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The city falls asleep, the windows go out ... (I didn’t make out)
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Wipe the sweat from the forehead, if real keeping
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Chorus:
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Hip-hop changes everything radically.
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Let the inscription on the tombstone be scribbled
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Again in black, except for children and girls,
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What about us, masters of rhyming chants
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Hip-hop changes everything radically.
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Let the inscription on the tombstone be scribbled
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Again in black, except for children and girls,
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What about us, masters of rhyming chants
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Second couplet:
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And each new album is not a business chip
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It's another year in the shit, while it was smoldering on the sid
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I felt for the door and went out with a sleeping bag over my shoulders
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While there fans under the hair dryer shouted "Who is your boss?"
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I am barefoot and pale. |
But assembled, and ready to go to the T-shirt
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I don't give a fuck in my pockets if the nuts are tight
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my kents are not kents I will gather, riot police and faces
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I didn’t waste the mixture, but I would have thrown an apple ear
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To every MC whose tongue is loose like a whore
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To every fagot who leaked types for 5 years for a splash
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This kitchen has its own charter, people understand what I mean
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This blow will be twisted, and they will ask for black
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Our hip-hop came out of the streets, lanes and squares
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Where our party stupidly believes in what we are doing to this day
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Smear under the nose with chalk,
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while your little bastard here faked his style under someone else
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Head up, brother
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Here rap does not smell of insanity, and my color is not red
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They were hung with rhinestones from the tower to the heels
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Rap is the highest style, nigga, not a mountain of fashionable rags
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Chorus:
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Hip-hop changes everything radically.
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Let the inscription on the tombstone be scribbled
|
Again in black, except for children and girls,
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What about us, masters of rhyming chants
|
Hip-hop changes everything radically.
|
Let the inscription on the tombstone be scribbled
|
Again in black, except for children and girls,
|
What about us, masters of rhyming chants |