VMJ - Марафоны
текст песни

Calling for a marathon
Krk district
Rhymes into the microphone
Fuck the corral
Calling for a marathon
Krk district
Rhymes into the microphone
Fuck the corral

VMJ

Marathons, people call to order food
To complete the assigned route
Everything point by point, here, here, and there
Product name, pace selection
From zero to one hundred, shit without degrees
Santa Claus gifts to any point in the city
Roads, lanes, packaged in bags
I'd rather walk home
On my cell phone, "Ding-ding!" Hello, Vadim, have one at Alias, send me something if you need it.
Imagine, they're following you for spices, maybe nuts.
Go for a run or run on foot.
In the bustle of the city, with a greeting on the newspaper.
Residents, like shadows, have no color.
I won't hide it, sometimes I get paranoid.
That they're watching me in the summer, fall, winter.

Verse after verse, coins for bags.
The streetlights have gone out, and we're already dressed.
Somewhere in the ghetto, somewhere we're polishing our sneakers.
No questions, no answers, summer has flown by.
Morning dawn, blue sky.
Vadyas, Brooklyn, Maxon, blowing smoke into the sky.
Zheka has pulled up, we're recording a track.
"Akg," "Vmj Records," twenty-first century.
We're in the neighborhood, in caps under the clouds.
Walking in circles, leaves rustling underfoot.
A block in Kumar, fog between. Houses
Think with your brain, or you'll be gone
Marathons, makeovers, various plots
The same people are wasting time on these weekdays
And what will happen to those in the white stuff?
They thought everything was timed, so what now, huh?

Yes, yes, yes, a call for a marathon
Krk district
Rhymes into the microphone
Fuck the corral
Dial for a marathon
Krk district
Rhymes into the microphone
Fuck the corral
"VMJ"