Tonny Tukan feat. TOSHIBA - Район
текст песни

I love it when the bass hits hard
You can even get your ride souped up here
Those white Adidas stripes
That’s the original—no fakes allowed

We keep pushing forward with confidence
We’ve got time to spare—endless hours
We spend it measuredly, taking our time
True connoisseurs of the black Benz

We set out somewhere with my bro during the day
But we didn't reach our destination until nightfall
The "Wanderer" started howling like a wolf
Playing the part of the "Lonesome Loner"

He seemed like a nice guy—but carried a shiv in his pocket
That friendly demeanor was just a shell
A heavy gold chain hangs around his neck
We’re dropping fresh verses every day—period

Care for a bite of this tasty apple?
The Serpent of Temptation whispers in your ear
You don't seem interested in atoning for your sins
You walk the razor's edge—so just keep your mouth shut

Warm me up with a fat stack of cash
Your girl plays the flute—if you catch my drift
My TT pistol is loaded—but I’m keeping it on the low
Don't bark at our backs like stray dogs

The clock ticks solely for us
Though we never know exactly what time it is
The rains poured down, but our fire never died
My crew always rolls in black—that’s our uniform

Now we’re chilling, riding the hype, posted up at the Villa
The brothers have vouched for everything we do
I hope you’ve all got the message loud and clear:
Wherever you went to school—we were the ones teaching the class

Our hood never sleeps—we’re blowing up dynamite
You look young, but there’s a joint smoking between your teeth
Our hood never sleeps—at night, the bass thumps loud
A souped-up black Benz cruises through the neighborhood streets

Our hood never sleeps—we’re blowing up dynamite
You look young, but there’s a joint smoking between your teeth
Our hood never sleeps—at night, the bass thumps loud
A souped-up black Benz cruises through the neighborhood streets

Give us more time to build up our neighborhoods
Our music screams out for us, so you’ll know exactly who we are
My little black TT—loaded to the max, no doubt about it
I’m just a kid who grew up in his hood, passing my "exams" to the crew
Fresh white kicks... They are erasing the old asphalt—
The very ground where, in white chalk, we traced the outlines of those we mourned.
I think it would have been easier for me to be born in your generation;
But then, I would never have known the streets and schools of the nineties.