Shrapnel - Оскал
текст песни

Fathers initiate your personal profit

In the line of cynics there are pros, in turnips they are actually rednecks

If you were a book, I would choose you like Gogol

After all, it’s not offensive to burn short-page reading for the sake of warmth...


Music pulls like a magnet

something like libido

Your text is like free verse

My text made in London, which is the capital of Great Britain


I don't have enough meters to reach gansta paradise, but

I'm walking to the beats

you're listening to a broken metronome


Give me a beat, any will do, especially this one

there is a path, trodden, but the path is not known

Verse, delirium, ready to warm

Rich ghetto

Membrane, magnet and coils, my DIY cerebro


It's time for dads to put on their little hats,

But foil in a hole and a game of spin the bottle can’t save you.

Hormones and nicknames of the same type woke up in turnips

Fans are waiting and can't wait for new Lil' mixtapes


We don't need Johnnyboys

After all, the country needs metal, I hope this will confirm,

who scourged the MC and lynched him with texts

lame, writhing in pain,

Now the homeland demands heroes on the battlefield: fire and robbery, my boat has been brought to this country of women by the surf


Tell me: how much do the clothes cost that you didn’t buy?

This is not a diss, this is an application for a bloody and tearful massacre

Until I become taller than you, I will not leave you alone

Under the cloak of light, I will be a nightmare, in difficult times of the night


And in this battle for the sky you are Papa John, and I am a rabbit

You are twins and I am Boeing

You are a samurai and I am a ronin

Someone is standing over you, I am free to do what I want

I'm a hunchback from Notre Dame, and you're just wretched


just passing through for now,

hitchhiked

To run at a gallop, experience will be needed, do the lines seem like a rumble?

So write until you vomit, until you sweat

Or wait until they call back, hanging on the wire

after which followers will give a black and white send-off on Instagram,

By the way, I'm talking about the cable


Yes, this is a painful flow,

And the path is longer than time,

We carry him on our hump,

And in my hands is a power of attorney,

What if you were even on the subway,

My rays will find you there too.

You may not greet us well

But you are not executioners for us

I myself realize that there is room to grow there

Where does the path lead, which is not easy, and at the end of it is water, that it itself is black,

Just like this genre

Its essence is simple

Take untalented passers-by

And give a chance, celebrate the brotherhood

Any sighs, rhymes, references, punches

Approximately, fans, schemes, that means

As long as there is an incentive and an idea -

there is room to grow:

There will be lines for people on my wavelength and speed