1 part:
____________________
verse 1:
Pasha, you didn’t get there, the floor is not yours, in chorus - YES!
terrible boob, nonsense, your songs, crap!
never read hop, chikam minting rohr
voice from 5top (Pyatigorsk) - cut, bro / cut, bot!
Who are you?
child of the isotope, melodine, r-computer
sitting at home secretly at a computer
composing stories, about someone, impromptu?
if rap is pont, then you're bespont, swag-move
fashionable slang silicone, your little bit scene is useless.
Hey new school, graze your mouth, not me
passions I will arrange cowboys, hello tell Johnboy
By the way! Johnny, I almost died
seeing lifes from filming a clip -
polished fag, sings ala bieber!
dwarf!
explain, what is this? fool, imagines himself dad?
sign up for a battle, Pont don't have skills, you're cotton
your new cheekbone incubator, what the fuck tirade?
groin do not have to climb on the horns, will become a blockhead Goldbattle!
chorus:
this is a war of generations
back would be time to return
where there is no sugary tribe
idle talk and hollow dance, meat,
that confusing basics sharpen the bald cheeks!
couplet:
Pasha Flash believing that he will remain invincible here light stiletto,
it didn’t matter to break the walls, to him, in order to stupidly get into the telly!
shout the girls in the chat: "Pasha is the most, the coolest!"
but you can’t see the idle shore, all in vain! Basta!
You got it! Bran is already auto-voc,
Well, don’t blow, friend, about what you have not seen.
your shop is covered by your warrior
nothing you sculpted on paper
burned brightly, but from now on a prisoner of darkness
onlooker! while giving out for a gift, tracks in a silly way
I’ll be a reptile, I was waiting for a moment to counterattack!
clubs, chats, trendy charts, got it, only becoming a shepherd,
on a leash! and now this truth is hawaii! mongrel, don't champ!
“This is just the beginning, beginning” - regularly shouted,
but as soon as you begin, you wondered, in the light of the spell's popularity,
songs sound incomprehensible, like Charlie Chaplin's sketches
I don’t try, fucking, I’ll squeeze out all the juice from you, washcloth!
