UnderWater - Песня Дуни - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Duni's song

Monk:

** Harmonion where is mine? OP, OP! ... **

Dunya:

"I know people, I saw people, I touched people, no, I pawed people, I am Super Emcy ..."

I grab the microphone when millions of people took it to me,

Around the world, for 80 words, I bring you ideas.

Where am I in the stratosphere? Where the air is heavier than one hundred percent of pure helium,

We have not broken bats, they are just haunts,

Rap pioneers are uncomfortable in coffins - to spin there like a yula.

Fate is zebra, today is a black strip, I did not hear the provocations, P -13, return the money back to me!

For breakfast, a couple of traffic jams, for dinner, cassettes with porn-

Here is my schedule for the day, everything is exactly in the hip-hop rhythm,

My name is Dunya, I was born in the 86th, in the Crimea,

In that year, Chernobyl exploded and the wind blew south,

When the aliens saw our planet on a whole, they said "Hallow!

Where is the manuder, a book of complaints? And Dunino is a personal file,

who wants to all Emshi's truth to all Emshira

To enter group sex into the program of the Olympic Games. "

I am the one whose lips have been crying for a long time for a long time, yes, I am making rap, but I don’t think that I'm a rapper,

My words catch my ear stronger than Tyson's Tyson's teeth,

My brain -succus of the statue of freedom, and together we are rhymes.

But do not perceive everything literally

But some colleagues in the workshop I would suggest re -read the primer,

After all, now there are two types of rap: "pi-pi" and "blah blah blah",

Downs, we will give a head start a FARO FARE to any representative of the flora and fauna.

Chorus:

Your skill can be lifted to the heights of Everest,

I will release the book on the PRSB Fans in rolls and without text.

In childhood, he wrote songs, immediately hid under a chair,

Now I selected Ze Bast, because it was here that they have a place.

On the eighth day, God created hip-hop,

But to rhyme to him "in the mouth" and "ass" is a matter of primitive amoeba.

I am an Empse bomb, without labels and clans,

I read under high, and you are under the phonogram.

Everyone wants to be stupid, but four holes in the belly do not like, right?

Luter than vodka to introduce a couple of cubes intravenously,

Then get behind the wheel

And, I give you a word, my friend, our next clip will see in the program "Road Patrol".

We create a story, I clearly remember this:

My serial number 007, yes, I-transformer,

Beloved author Gogol, I will go on stage naked in a state of ala I do not remember anything

And I will perform solo on the wire in Smolny ...

-No

-Then Dima Bilan

-No

-Then the Beeline line

-No

-The I will tell a secret secret: this is Fifty Center.

Who here said that he appreciates himself low?

I, because he forgot to remove the price tag.

-Well, ITA is a guy in the center, but what about 99% of rappers,

who dream of seeing you on the sight of their pistols?

-Yes, forget it, Salyan told me about your life in the ghetto,

Yes, you love each other there, like Romeo and Juliet!

Whoever proclaims himself the king will say:

"Your Majesty! Try the throne to your ass, I will spend electricity to him!"

Chorus:

Your skill can be lifted to the heights of Everest,

I will release the book on the PRSB Fans in rolls and without text.

In childhood, he wrote songs, immediately hid under a chair,

Now I selected Ze Bast, because it was here that they have a place.

I create my own lyre against those who have personal dragons and jewelers,

My rap is like light for vampires for them, I can call myself happy in euphoria,

But what good can I teach, if we just smoked?

Every year Tupak gets out of the coffin,

To record a new album, so look for both in stores.

One pack, Tupak, Tripak is some kind of illness or did I say something wrong?

And yet, remember: they never pay in the Russian rap,

Everyone is mowed under medieval knights, hesitating the entire collection of dresses.

Their lungs are like balloons at a sigh,

If they let wigs, they read like hot Estonian guys.

Yes, their rhymes are beautiful, like Miss World,

Yes, they manipulate the hall, like dinosaurs in the ice age,

Yes, the number of their mobiles, the producers, stood in the throat in the throat,

But howl, the device overheated when I passed their masterpieces through a lie detector ..