Текст песни Denny Presston, ДЖЕФРИльюис, Simagon - Тук-Тук

Ugh, open the door, we're here
Open the door, knock-knock
Open the door, we're here
Open the door, knock-knock
Knock-knock! Don't ask who's there, it's us
Making dirt, in style, the kind that Mr. Clean couldn't wash away
But the lost passion of the genre won't revive the thirst of the big crowd
The boundaries are buried, there are traces of hooves from obscurantists here
Our music has a place, there's no room for talentless people
Even if we're not known worldwide, at least we're honest with our lyrics
We shout protests against the despot, not childishly angry, we're daring
To take a closer look, you need to remove the blinders from your eyes
There are valid reasons! Ready to tear everything apart to a brutal beat
Feel with your heart, where there's plenty of water, where there's a concentrate, an essence!
Those who didn't make it to the top and didn't work hard have deflated
Well, everyone has their own thing, it's annoying, so what?
Honing the flow for years is the norm, an MC is weak when out of shape
Time will remind you about hip hop, about its roots - with sorrow
Kings leave so early, instantly interrupting history
There will be much debate about this, but the point is how they are remembered
We faced changes in street music, and so what?
For some, the message is important, for others, to get them hyped
Trends and fashion rule the third group. That's how it was and will be, forget it
There's nothing to change here, you need to choose the right path!
Knock-knock to the bang bang! Who's cool, Kurt Cobain, Bane? Gotham is destroyed, Bruce Wayne has gone on a gang rampage
Reality is blurred, the core is bent inside
The undead have crawled out, and ginseng won't save us
The hornet sharpens its sting, verstehen, it has fled
How many MCs? Their names will be erased from the tablets
They once made decisions, now I don't feel sorry for them
They are not going to Courchevel, but to the thirty-ninth Warsaw
Fame is fickle, once adored, now they are shamed
They all bowed down properly, now they are used like carsharing
What shone brighter than the stars will suffer the fate of Koschei
I'm for the underground, there's no light here at all
In live communication we will erect our ziggurat
This is hip-hop, here the one who throws a Nazi salute is not a brother
We are a conglomerate of different techniques, our eyes are burning
We irrigate minds like the Sumerian fields of the Tigris and Euphrates
The style is non-standard, still Denny, still Presston
Be amazed by this harshness like a German near Brest
We carry our cross further, catch the overhead pass
They won't shut our mouths with a sawed-off shotgun, and even less so with arrest
Space speaks with us
The world leaves us tons of clues in it
Listening to the universe, like podcasts
You find diamonds in its stories
The air becomes plasma
Just open your mind to the cosmos, brother! You instantly recognize all the gold by the tooth
Where others see viscous clumps of dirt
The phases vibrate with bass
Phrases are laser-cut onto the beats
At zero, in a vase of roses, Casino
Capricorn climbed into the ditch for the winter
Azimuth, dances of words…
They can be more dangerous than a damn Mauser
When the puzzles come together in chaos
The state of trance, the Ace puts time on smooth pauses
Music is the Sun, if it's cloudy
A tropical downpour, if there's a drought
I perceive the world by ear, in contrast
There aren't even such colors in the world
From apocalypse to collapse
Calypso gives relaxation
Joyfully, the Gift will be given to us
And it will spread like an infection

Uuuu Open the door, we're here
Open the door, knock-knock
Open the door, we're here
Open the door, knock-knock