When you hurt and feel bad
Your world TINY crumbles the ordinary SCARP in the trash,
You want to fence off him, drops in your ears,
And the play button is pressed, but you're no better.
Why? After all, music is a balm.
Yes, you have such a playlist, as if the Lord punished you,
All Shock's diss, all mixtapes SD,
And you marvel at SOMETHING that your life goes on pi ...
Here the logic is simple, there is only one conclusion, there is no way out,
And how many years have passed, but all the same buzzing wires
Half of the rappers pray to Satan
But the LORD gave us the RIGHT to live, their songs WASTE.
And we clog the player with this heresy and believe
What will become warmer for us, and this charm will warm us.
But they will destroy your world, their sea, their horde,
Until it’s too late, remove all Russian rap from your hard drive.
Your source of trouble is your player,
Your player, throw it out, [although it's too late already]
Your source of trouble is your player,
There is no balm for the soul, but compost for the ears.
Your source of trouble is your player,
Your player, throw it out, [although it's too late already]
Your source of trouble is your player,
Your player, your player, your player, your player.
Everything still stands in Russian rap
And not the scientist’s cat, but Seymyau walks around the chain,
Goes to the right: “Lance Armstrong”, to the left - “Ryan Gosling”,
Do not understand ? Immediately explain. You’ll scare after.
Our rap is built on the paradoxes of the worlds,
Ziguy Geviksman - is this not an oxymoron?
But if you don’t have a “how”, you no matter how sharp you are, they shit,
They then write an oxymoron through three X.
They are all a folk ensemble, pipe and button accordion,
"And you would try it yourself." Yes, let them go to huyam-yam-
-Yambi, there’s not even a smell of chorea,
Having listened to their creations, you rather smell the Ganji,
How can you change the world around you with the colors of notes
He will remain shit, filling the playlist with guilt,
But there’s a way out, just throw the player out and clean the hard,
... And seek the truth in verse.
Chorus.
In a pair of Elenti, Oleg, one of my colleagues, I appreciate
His merits, but I will not give my scalp to the collection.
They say to me: "Dimon, you are finished, he is invincible!" - Box, Rump
"You will be made stopudovo dry, Dim." - Putura
Oh well, the outcome is unpredictable, what are we guessing about, but
He is a good eMTs, but in his texts water and matzo.
I know how to deal with it, I'll pour it into the player
And throw the player, bringing troubles to zero.