Грач - 47
текст песни

In my social circle
There are so many black people
That the lighting is gone
Your rap grabs my cheeks

Facts on the snap of thoughts
I'll shoot you with bars
I'm stitched together from mistakes
You're fake and bruised

Fuck hand-to-hand combat
After all, there's a katana in your head
Now you live together
And you have a matriarchy

I have no discernible tastes
Zero sense in music
There next to Buzova
Album in the trash

Stop, you're a target
I loaded the pellets
Your head, my rifle
Brains say: "Something needs to change"
Like dogs bark
I know it myself

It's time to show the parodists an attack
Knock on the beats, pour me a Bloody Mary
Ready to fly to that party
To kill, call the punishers

You won't play this track on Party
Why the fuck? He's boring, after all.
Fell from the rap pile, but without getting hurt.
We get a burning under.
What's so far above you?
Region 47 is launching a publication.