Jubilee - Мой Баттл - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

You freestyle is cool, isn't it?

But how many stand-up battles in pairs did I have at my school desk?

And I don't need a microphone, or a Beatle, or a camera,

I'll chew you up and spit you out on the floor,

You have pride and honor - the cat cried,

And the aroma of shame cannot be hidden under deodorant.

And there are many new facts

But somehow I don’t give a fuck

Your street magic -

Yours - dad's new Ford Focus

Jaguar is a dream car to drive,

People like us drank it in cans at the entrance,

People like us once hammered everything together,

Forgetting forever what the word sobriety means.

My letters are glowing. Have you seen the first dots?

I open my notebook and there are white nights in St. Petersburg.

And you’re still green, bitch, yelling that you’re cool, super,

You stand in front of us in scorched supras.

Album Cold,

The album is full of plagiarism.

A bomb album?

It's faceless, your album is bare.

Album of the year?

No, this is just a fashion album,

Fuck off, I flipped through it, like I was visiting an album with photos.

Fuck, how many times have you sold your album there,

But the fact is that you stole the notes on your album.

I thought there was no fawn, but damn, it’s a bummer, here it is,

So shove your album up your pussy, you clown!

You told me that Hey asshole,

But why did you record a feature on his pissing album?

Did he really stick his tongue that deep?

Have you forgotten how you and I laughed at the fucking loser?

Hey Denis, a secret between us:

Russian rap is marriage and divorce, but you and I are not married.

I'll cut you with a scalpel, you'll fight less often,

And in the rematch, Ju stepped on the same rake.

My battle is the Street, there are a lot of living people.

Your battle, homey, is an Internet forum.

My battle is a Mike in my hand and there is a chorus of laughter.

Your battle - you write a verse at home for a couple of days.

My battle is a place where even the air is full of tin

Your battle is a place where the sponsors are Cola and Pepsi.

My battle is the place where the MC's voice is torn off.

Your battle is not even a battle, but a song contest.

I'm coming out of the backstage and you're opening your mouth, bitch

You scream, you'll beat me up, when you meet me, you shake my hand.

You have nowhere to live, the puppy was kicked out of the house,

No one will write down the fit, your release is coming out solo.

Why the hell should you rap? Shooting a video? No money.

Take out a loan, then pay it off in nine years.

And yes, dude, these are your friends.

They teach you what you can say and what you can’t say.

We met, you asked for a fitter,

I made remixes to the tracks and read everything into the fitter,

You tore your shirt, asked for a fitter for the album,

But he was told to fuck off and asked for a fitter again.

While recording, your mother is behind you,

She will tell you what is wrong, advice is so helpful.

This kind of rap makes me sick. What should I take from you, whores?

But the Sins of the Fathers are not a party, but my five brothers.

I started as a fan

Freestyles in class, whispers, class, a bunch of nerds.

On the Internet they teach us how to do a street battle,

Hoyax is not something for which your dad will call you smart.

I see a herd of imbeciles on the horizon,

Looks like shit, as if he meant the old TV.

I don’t sing like these heirs of Gubin,

But if life is a game, then I am the boss of the last level.

Kill you? All my tracks are about myself,

Yes, I read to myself, but you hear them - telepathy.

I take the microphone, and even if I'm on the subway,

With my rhymes I'm taller than a pterodactyl

E, we are the Sins of the Fathers, we are six fighting units,

Add us together, boy, mathematics.

If we're on stage, we explode and we don't give a fuck what it is,

St. Petersburg, Paris or Antarctica, e..

I've been batting since I was 13 years old. I know something about this. And I'll tell you... I'll tell you all what it's like

My battle is the Street, there are a lot of living people.

Your battle, homey, is an Internet forum.

My battle is a Mike in my hand and there is a chorus of laughter.

Your battle - you write a verse at home for a couple of days.

My battle is a place where even the air is full of tin

Your battle is a place where the sponsors are Cola and Pepsi.

My battle is the place where the MC's voice is torn off.

Your battle is not even a battle, but a song contest.

Loshye.