Даста feat. House Mc - За тру
текст песни

Let's chop it up, brother—talk about what's "true"
About the ones who keep shouldering the weight of this game
Even though hypocrisy is everywhere you look
Where almost every other guy turns into a total scumbag.

Switching sides costs absolutely nothing to these faggots in the herd
First they act tough in their lyrics, then they whine in pain
Asking how such a shitty fate could befall their poor little lives
Wipe away your tears, man—don't make yourself an outcast in your own eyes.

Everyone wants to blow up the charts and count their cash
Ripping off styles from the West and turning them into trash
Spouting murky nonsense over some primitive beat
It seems those lame, old-school ditties are back in fashion again.

How few remain who still fight for respect?
Who stand their ground against the shit wrapped up in a pretty package?
Don't confuse real music with the turds coming from the outside
These jackals are taking Russian music and running it straight into the ground.

Let's chop it up, brother—talk about what's "true"
About who's playing the game right, and who's already quit
About the ones who talk big—acting tough—but piss themselves when it counts
I'm just going to take out all this fucking trash.

Let's chop it up, brother—talk about what's "true"
About the ones who claim to have "style" while playing their game
Who try to reach the top purely on bravado and hype
But in reality, they're just stirring up a whole lot of pointless commotion.

I've been with rap for about thirteen years now
But to this day, it's not for the money
It's for the respect.
I was just a young punk behind the mic
I remember those days well
Spitting rhymes over beats about weed and the ghetto
This culture drew us in and held us forever
We tried to prove to everyone we met
That there was no genre cooler than this one.
I remember the first meetups
The first rap festivals
Where everyone wanted to show off and act like a real "Gangsta."
We had punchlines and flow
Technique and rhymes
For every single one of us, Hip-Hop
Became the very meaning of life.
So what do *you* guys have?
Tell me—aside from a whole lot of pointless posturing?
Yours truly. Rap—in a word? Bullshit.
And even that is dying out fast.
You’re all clones, carbon copies—
Where are the originals?
I can’t see you, can’t hear you—
Haven't been able to, right from the start.
Just a bunch of mindless monkeys.
I’m dropping a load right on your face.
This is the finale: I’m a TRU MC,
And you? You’re a talentless punk.

Come on, let’s chop it up, bro—talk about what’s TRU.
About who plays the game right, and who’s already quit.
The ones who talk big—act all tough—but piss themselves when it counts.
I’m just gonna take out all this fucking trash.

Come on, let’s chop it up, bro—talk about what’s TRU.
About the ones who claim they’ve got "style," playing their own game—
Who try to reach the top just by fronting—
But in reality, they’re just stirring up some pointless, fake-ass drama.

Come on, let’s chop it up, bro—talk about what’s TRU.
About who plays the game right, and who’s already quit.
The ones who talk big—act all tough—but piss themselves when it counts.
I’m just gonna take out all this fucking trash.

Come on, let’s chop it up, bro—talk about what’s TRU.
About the ones who claim they’ve got "style," playing their own game—
Who try to reach the top just by fronting—
But in reality, they’re just stirring up some pointless, fake-ass drama.