This is a fusion of words, FAS of these goats
You will see your mom's Haslerov in the gas chambers
There in other worlds such as you die out
Take your pick: straight to hell or to this conglomerate
Pafasa parade, dad behind the wheel
MI-6 will bring, record, mix-tin on disk
Under a gram of fast, even from the head of the word
You will be sent home at the speed of a shot
An arrow is flying from the Ryazan subway
Got something to show, this is hip-hop circumcision
Those who came for prizes and turned in these tracks cheap
Those that promise asphyxia and volvulus.
You are a mini-shock here, and I'm a debutant at battle
I don't hate, but I'm ready to shoot mutants
From school gangs, fighters to stalemate situations.
Don't hide your eyes behind a bandana from the MC with a shovel.
Don't look for the words that are in your head,
You have enough soul to give a fuck
Put out your lyrics, imprisoning your escape.
These words are not from the head, this is the dictionary of the demon.
The rake ate out of the bag
There will be no kneading here, the MC is depressed -
Hanging session and cocksucking passion,
Vasya, throw away this slush, where did you sign up?
It would seem why diss in the selection?
For me, your rap is written in three letters on the fence.
I'll start to get some fun, and you follow me
Style - phase zero, the pain will subside by itself.
I bet your song broke the whole class
Well, you cry on every topic and fuck the ox?
Your balance is coming to an end and a tear down your face
It flows down. You fight in convulsions and prick dishes.
My rap is a matter of jurisdiction, and they dance to yours
These guys on dsquared pants, bitch.
I walk in without knocking, turn up the mafon
This is a hip hop battle, not a golden gramophone
