Hey, just count here, boy -
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You are not [in the pool, I won’t soar you just like that,
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But until you stupidly hit, then when
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According to the beats, I'm here with my hands] like a terrorist attack
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Laying out rap cards
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Just like mathematician squares
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Rhymes, because they are like craters!
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I'm tearing up the instrumentals, !
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Boiling water in the capillaries, and don't give a shit!
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While the half-guys are firing at my style
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In a row, one by one, they will settle like mud
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From now on, punches are in order under the pumping beat
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Here quietly tick-tock ticking, but not the chimes
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And not bells, not watches, but definitely TNT
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Well, not otherwise, honed skills at night
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No matter how many topics I composed, I never learned
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missed the point
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Give me two fingers on the touchscreen
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I'm counting the reading. |
We read to put out
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As if in chimes - this time is charged like dynamite -
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Blows towers apart!
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Life is rush hour, in pursuit of happiness
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Get it for an hour, now it will be much earlier
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If the street taught you how to solve problems -
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So, act in such a way as to fuck without a task
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And then the serving will drag you one day, drag you
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Whiskey, pussy, in cabbage soup, recitative, like Tyson, in fact
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Terrorize minus like Jay-Z stores
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Rhythms vividly threw ...
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Like a thorn in the brain
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Infected this world with a new rhythm. |
Blur the boundaries
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The only rule of the game is that time does not depend on us!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Time is everything! |
Time is everything!
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Yo! |
Yo! |
Yo! |
Yo!
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Stopudovo was not fit, but was painfully hungry
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The path from the womb to the grave caring or turning on
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Raids or factories, for a year or two years -
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Having reached the shallow water, taking the wrong step, you will drown!
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Whoa, Mavrodi, mmm - try my M&M's
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Not Moscow Eminem, but Vologorsk Method Man
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My rap, my sex, a new day gave text
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Taking off my stress PES on PS
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They didn’t hear me, they didn’t understand, I leaked
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These words, like a solarium with buckets in the army, hit me
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The pit changed me - I fell into it on purpose
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I do not believe in theorems, I believe in experience and time
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I don't go in a hurry, I don't run slowly
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These pipes do not make noise, they stupidly drive the wind
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How leukocytes through indigo veins are closer to inferno
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Than to the old gardens of Eden left for bohemia
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Not summer, not winter. |
This is not a ghetto
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In which whites were burned for (Mogen David)
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From them only ashes and ashes remained
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And your sleeping areas - don't fucking call the ghetto
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I defend the truth to the grave - no pasaran
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To answer for idle talk in front of an athlete, or a patty of money
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Or a "portrait" beaten on parapets or a curb ...
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Moscow is calling this bardure - fondue head
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You thought it was a game, but no, it's a tiger attack!
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Do not roll on the paradigm, brother
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If you get in the way, you won't make it to the credits
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That fierce type that stands behind you
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Prefers to make way for us
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And this type of rights, and psychopaths psychotype
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And two liters of this rhythmic prototype
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To steal their appetite, and to bring to them what we |