| For kings, the path to the throne is covered with cabbage
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| I don't like it, this fame is empty, I'm a sad Belarusian
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| Usyok? |
| Art is garbage, banter, but someone will grow up,
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| And ordinary people will surf, fall asleep, shame, but here are poseurs
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| They will peck out everything in grains, they will drink the lakes, they will vomit
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| I'm a bunny cat from calculations, and who are you, young bastard?
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| I look like a diplodocus, not young, but there is a stream in my chest
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| My hunger for lines makes you twist your handkerchief
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| Ready to party, without naked words, syllables need to stir up, brother
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| As long as Hip-Hop is alive, we can take a sip or two for this,
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| And then many people are aiming for our place,
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| But I'm not a magician, but a cook, I cook grog - it contains rum, tea and the juice itself
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| I didn’t pour sand into my eyes, I didn’t poke about my face behind my back
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| Don't piss like that, young MC - I won't touch mom and chick
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| You are great, you know how to create a hype,
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| But I am quiet in my underground, as if in the main role of Tikhonov
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| I need it wildly, get away from the rope
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| Do not interfere, the ship sails into the distance under the cannonade
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| My crew is made up of pirates, Emperor
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| M.U.Skool Squadra - these shots squeeze the blood out of the pen
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| Nosferatu. |
| Everything on alcohol, I survive on a bet here
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| Little servant like Passepartout, Egor by passport
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| A land mine is in my mouth, I'll die out - I'll become a corpse. |
| Friend, but strange
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| The fact that with this drama of a fucking injury we did not give up early, bravo!
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| This is a sign of quality, get to know the quality of the most
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| Depths and bowels |
| Favorite Negro
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| Yours turned out to be a white kid from the house next door
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| They rhyme, as if they left their mark on you with special equipment!
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| This is my house! |
| I raise the flag higher to Olympus day by day
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| We are here! |
| It doesn't matter where, just run upstairs
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| Plan A - outshine everyone, B - do not fade into the shadows
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| This is rap, brother, this is bang-bang, this is RB As long as it saves, even if there is an armrest on the leg
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| If only there was prey, I don’t give a damn - you are a farmer, a hunter
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| And our path is not easy through the forest and ditches
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| The fool has always had, will, have someone to blame for their troubles
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| They are in stress - we are in sneakers, we are under the light - they are in white
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| They are right, they are wrong. |
| We are these
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| They have a heart, we are heartless, a lady has a heart
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| Plans for today, hopes for tomorrow
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| We hide the soul, we carefully keep secrets
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| Themselves at the helm, the captain will not direct,
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| But this hungry world will break off a piece and we, you will see
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| In books we are looking for ourselves, which year is in pursuit
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| I filter the nonsense, the words "you're not a man!" |
| - just a dead number
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| In drunkenness there is no longer that fun
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| We scream in the blood, torn from the beloved as on the first birthday
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| Angels and demons lie on the scales
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| To hell with laziness! |
| To the goal step by step, lack of sleep
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| And will not upset the wallet or the scalded tongue
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| The one who worked more will reach the gums with a sword. |
| Minsk!
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| This is a sign of quality, get to know the quality of the most
|
| Depths and bowels |
| Favorite Negro
|
| Yours turned out to be a white kid from the house next door
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| They rhyme, as if they left their mark on you with special equipment! |