My game over the years has become a super game.
Passing beyond the level, became a super-hero.
Rostov-on-Don, multi-district Armageddon,
I am far away, but we are under the same sky with you, my district.
The sun is sleeping behind the clouds - a pale yellow spot,
We play in & quot; Beatles & quot ;, we make muzlo.
Once upon a time, on a bespontovy computer we did
What others failed on & quot; Abbey Road & quot; in London.
Of course, it would be cooler with a bunch of dough,
But a lucky chance made us start from scratch.
A little work ... Or rather, a lot of work ...
God willing, brother, there will be bread and water.
Morning fog like cotton wool - stuck to the skyscrapers.
And today is a day off and, thank God, there is no extras.
Started with a slip, food without glasses, not fastened,
Would not meet with Uncle Stepa.
Alas, my poems are not written by old Beryl,
And Patriarch Kirill will not read their people from the clergy.
And Sasha Pushkin, in poetry - the measure of the measure,
Will not be able to evaluate my syllable, real or not real.
For me, hip-hop is a hobby, rather than hellish work.
That's the whole truth, this is the truth.
This is music of the young and the proud!
Are you inside is not a whack yet? So it’s too early to go on holiday.
Comp, midi, micro, two monitors,
Puer is stronger to moisten the throat. Record went!
After all, on the other side, someone is waiting for rap,
Who is rushing!
Time flies onward! But, as before, -
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
We are different, and even hip-hop!
I choose rap, which is rushing by any means.
Time flies onward! But, as before,
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
The one who is in the subject, that one will understand -
Rap, who is rushing
As if I had been waiting for something too long, as if ...
The heat did not rise to the upper floors, as if ...
The soul was covered with prickles, like a hedgehog -
Take it and go somewhere to Birobidzhan.
- Where?
I became somehow cynical and angry.
Thoughts and feelings, like frozen stray dogs.
In the sky of stars, small diamond rash.
Behind the wall, the basses chatter, the neighbor has a son.
I call my own, but there are dreams.
It is drizzling - not the rain, not the snow, the clock has become.
He entrusted his sins, he still made the TG;
I’d make a hit, but it's empty in my head.
He dragged out a strong parlikom, his nose in the smoke -
And like all the frets, still in gaiwan water.
Swing by Feel - Hard Up-Down,
This is probably the very underground.
I play the piano on the plastic midi,
I live in my world - an illiterate lyricist.
Five lines, treble clef, seven notes,
Here it is rap, which pret ...
Rap, who rushing!
Time flies onward! But, as before, -
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
We are different, and even hip-hop!
I choose rap, which is rushing by any means.
Time flies onward! But, as before,
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
The one who is in the subject, that one will understand -
Rap, who is rushing
Time flies onward! But, as before, -
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
We are different, and even hip-hop!
I choose rap, which is rushing by any means.
Time flies onward! But, as before,
I rushing rap, which is rushing to anybody!
The one who is in the subject, that one will understand -
Rap, who is rushing
I choose rap! I choose rap!
I choose rap! Rap, who is rushing
I choose rap! I choose rap!
