ГАМОРА, Jahmal TGK, 9 Грамм, LEXS BMF, Местный - Руки в облака
текст песни

Reading rap is not a good thing, it’s a fact among MCs
I accelerate the speed of thoughts, on freestyles - that’s the only way
My punches are lova-lova in the courtyards, where there is only darkness
And they have power in every word, and the attic will fly off its hinges
Kila-kila killed everyone, snickers and anorak
To go out to the masses with this, I don’t hide it in a notebook.
There's a full tank of fuel here
Hands in the air!That's the fact
We used our hoodies to clean up the mess.
Acapella warmed everyone up
Our rapak is a fierce topic
The whole favela sang loudly
Who said: “We are out of business?”
I outline rappers with chalk
I spread it with joy and boldly
Everyone is trying to write this guy off.
If it doesn't work, suck it
Listen, come on, don't drizzle!
Everyone who is with me before the thaw
May surname, mesi-mersi
God forbid!
Let only our sound stick out
In the slang of street punks -
The poisonous South is smoldering here
I need more of your hands
For this I am looking for a square
Brother, pass me the scent
Accurately driven into a blunt
Hip Hop fan for the ages:
Here the triumvirate is hammering away
This format
Black Pirate
Hammered and blown up for all it's worth
If our rap pack is spinning, then it’s a hassle
I collected the most poisonous puzzle from the grated days
If it's my luggage, I'll send it first class.
I would like to convey and convey all this to the masses
Tell me if something is wrong, tell me if something is crooked
If you have to do it to the beat, you have to do it beautifully
In the areas - as always: there is a pack of smoke
Plastic is needed in yards, papyra is needed in yards
I didn’t invent all this, I saw it all myself
You just have to think, brother.Remember - this is a killer
Quietly whispering in your ear, like, “bullfinches, not weights”
And, at a minimum, our muzlo was in your side dish
It's, like, a fire show, but it got a lot of smoke here
A blank slate as a basis, allows you to think more broadly
Bring it to you, stay connected and on air
The boys like rap, boys, that's how they are
Home, home, twilight
Smell of shit
We are an armada
Fog, early winter
Be careful man
It's not fog
So, don’t go crazy in this “not fog”
Packed into a verse
Rhymes on the spot
To your block
Our caravan has arrived
Guarantor of quality
Words are like lava
Circling randomly
There's a lamp in my ears
The soul is a pit
Soul as a commodity
Stranger, let's go to the ban
Our gang to you
Not propaganda
Clan of musicians
We need a clear plan
No options
Bam!
Not without talent myself
From the underground, straight
Like from a hydrant, I'll give you
By city, bro
My baritone is brutal
My corridor led me here
This is 9 grams
Gamora and Jama from TGC
Lines from the draft
For young and old
Rhyme River
All shores
For centuries
Our ship is speeding
With the smell of ponytail and tobacco
You know our voices
You will hear us more than once, for sure.
And we will not load you empty
Come closer, brother, and let me light a light
Rap is a game
Like cards for the fool
Lines in my notepad
Like trump cards in your hands
My pack has bass to the ceiling
When 9 Grams is on the mic
It's like a barrel at your temple
Cold as ice
Strong as whiskey
Classics - like urban melancholy
Turn it up loud enough to be heard from afar
And raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Raise your hands to the clouds
Come on!