| Tune your frequencies, whip shot knocks someone down
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| Garik will not insert a robot,
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| We write in a room 3 by 5 for nothing
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| Phrases eat into memory
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| With smoke and wind, hello to all cats
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| From a yellow branch
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| The underground is brewing in those places
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| Where is the fucking staff
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| Micro for twenty bucks
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| Maps are cheaper, but stories are capable
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| Break cervical vertebrae, boxes, bohi
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| Party smile explosions rhyme beats
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| Words are crumpled, like after vodka with water
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| Kings hide crowns, but perhaps we
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| Please plan another glass!
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| Boring gloomy sluggish, if the rap stage,
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| Now and then J. Lo sucked me
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| The micro is on record,
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| Physically, we are harmless after a couple of attacks
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| Check out these mazes!
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| I blow smoke from my throat for my bastards tight
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| With Semi-soft in the same boat
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| In our block, they do not smoke with a needle
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| Baby bottle to your lips like a Glock to your temple
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| Do you understand?!
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| The salt of my pus is that you suckers will open
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| The hand itself mixes the tracks, not a damn thing from the notes, but fuck
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| My beats have you in the membrane, dodik
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| A syllable is in use, like cards in a deck. |
| OK Bye!
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| Volodya. |
| My flow drug, I'm smoke and flesh
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| I don’t leave sputum on the micro
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| My rap is like putting a dick in an woman's throat
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| An episode is enough to understand who is worth what
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| Experience decides a lot - the introduction of water into the lungs, sweat
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| Do you understand me, scum?! |
| You understood me?!
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| OK Bye.
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| Throw in the trash all your statuses
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| Semi-soft shit on a layer of pathos
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| This season, red is in fashion,
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| And I smoke and rejoice, everything is fine
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| Quality fucked up!
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| In the cellars of deceitful MCs were deprived of childishness
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| It is unprofitable to expend energy, it is profitable for White to bunch
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| It bothered me, downloaded tracks in batches
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| The garbage turned out to be a little sense, a little shmali
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| Everything will suit, or complain to the authorities for greed,
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| Those who pour the amount
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| Untypically, we washed the dregs from the mind
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| One-two, one-two, or whatever? ..
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| Somewhere in Colombia, something grows in flower beds,
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| And I got stuck in the holidays and fuck everyday life - it's foul!
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| Dry cheekbones, or boredom stole
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| My time. |
| Listen carefully to this track
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| Highlight on the repeat, visibility out of the fog
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| Eyes rolling out, after a piece from St. Petersburg
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| Draw what you saw beyond
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| Paint over the rest, the rest is wrong.
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| Rap is shit and I rhyme my shit
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| I'm like nicotine pushing shit in the blunt
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| I don’t blow a dick, I know a dick won’t blow me properly
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| Well fuck it, don't get mad nigga
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| Just do it like a Nike ad dick
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| This year, tales from a spit T-shirt are in use
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| J.Y.L.T.A.Y. |
| branch and semi-soft will stretch you like Lycra
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| Hurry up to shout “Oh May year!
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| Stones, gunpowder, stamps. |
| Watches, shirts, T-shirts.
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| Do not rush to read "Mein Kampf", start with "Dunno
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| Decomposing the products of combustion, we are on the verge of extinction,
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| But not yet under a layer of gravel
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| We don't play by the rules, but we have the right to get better
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| And we like this right!
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| We like poisoning, what the hell is going on in our brains
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| In what we create, the street is felt,
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| The underground is fucking not Emir Kusturica
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| We smoke everything that is smoked.
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| fuck |