Saigon

#romanianflow Lyrics: He caught us off guard last summer On the grounds that it is noisy at 3 in the morning in Customs As mulberry the resort they came to the notification Our dicks break, when we give it, we give it hard I said on the microphone that we have another cool song That I'll handcuff her if necessary, after that We made them wait for us, the people started cheering I yelled "play it Mo Fayah" and saw Vama jump Rrrah, rrrah...a MIC bag of Dear, rad, when I appear on Track, pull, clean, with rap Tunat, erupt, turn, break you, lay down The table suddenly changes Dad plays the drums when I play p'acapella Yes, ready right away, I'll attack you as much as I can You get out of the way, I'm doing bombings With dumes tied, played, on equipped drums Yes, good quotes, yes, no more facts With actual rhymes in quantity Dated though they are artifacts KEPA really cares for you, bye bye I don't hide the truth like the Pope You go about your business Try to do something with your life Do you think you're better? OK, you know something After all, who the fuck are you to criticize my work You know it's up to me Yes, without files, remember, I'm in good shape In the decade since, I declare, clearly He takes you with warmth like in Qatar It's a rare flow, you're comparing, it's not the case, I'm a barbarian At MIC, when they appear, you're ready to go I'll screw up any scales The board changes, I cut like Freaka, I fly under the radar I put the barda on the haters, I take them in the chakra, the fog What's up with all that poop? I keep my mouth shut All the kids comment gugu-gaga all day They appear on the track, make art, spit dummies like an alpaca I have both bag material in bankruptcy Apaca I renounce all troika, I am full of venom - Black Mamba KEPA is with a head and... the name with K-pa I take the booty with the barda and the chaff of fakers with the thong MC Bosketari, of the channel, colleagues with Sabbagh That's why they go with the wave and give it to Lambada There's no way they're going to take me away, they'd rub my lamp On drums I count, with flow I pump, blunt in the text, in the rest I deliver complex content... in any context, acid per verse Doberman man, I'm like a Porsche Cayman S When they appear at MIC, the stands jump like San Mames On bass I plant, classic as Das EFX Stand in front of the mirror for nothing, I keep pretending you can't see yourself You do what you think, but make sure you don't get lost with GPS For example, Mad Max could have been filmed in Ferentari We see celebrities on TV, they smell like carrion, yes, they are fresh These fast as Flash fail, let's just crawl, sides on cash Come out because it's talmeș-balmeș, you'll poison yourself if you look at them We only rate chumps, whores, fools, and fish Don't fall asleep because if you sleep on you it's thick The Mass Media is brainwashing you en masse Stupid stupid is planted in DNA I wonder how my dick still shaves Huidu from others on TV Too many talkers, talkers, talkers The thugs, the thugs, the thugs, you see them wreaking havoc on TV It's tragic, on the pages I'm shaking because the public gives credit A lot of rubbish that gets caught up in trending Any pasty livid, lyrically invalid Arrhythmic drunk, atypical type, greedy for money bags Look for the fake success with the correct amount in the envelope With TV and radio, a hit is made from shit Pictures everywhere, hanging in "star" clubs There are so many diseases in it, you have to walk around it with an isolette All the old men with cheese run after them They wake up like Mario, they got the mushroom, run to the hospital I put them on the embers, after sitting on the coke They want the money, on a clear card, after the spell they disappear The first job will never die We salute all baby-swallowing divas on the ladder It's human error, says a popular saying Then in this case I don't trust the judges Justice is theirs, ah...you lose on the score Too many innocents say "Hello" to the speaker It's full of carders who are good at their job You're a live target, hang tight! who's holding you? I tell you, nobody You are again' val, OK, yes' respect the golans In the war on the street front, the veterans are eating you I jump to the drums - Kriss Kross, I run away from fakers like in Cros I hit with the cross-n-cross, I turn you upside down, acid, difficult, on bass bà boss On a hellish track, I have hundreds of horses, I put NOS as if it were on COX Yo-s hated by a lot of people, you're as ugly as Crocs With Bronx harps, yes' from broken hunger You ask your mother to give you money to put the tin around your neck On the track you talk shit, I'll blow you up You lie to you that you represent, you 'right by the sucker At Battle off the dome, too much Elton John Put on bags of Snickers, yes, they're still tight It's not them when they're hungry, so let them go to work All newer endings form a band Gods are given, the biscuits are inflated in them I'm beginning to think that all sausages are fried by the mitites That many of them talk to me, but I don't assume at all And when we touch nose to nose, he takes the poop on the spot Fire! Fire! Smoke comes out of the microphone Lyric marathon and bombardment like in Saigon All the newer guys see themselves as first-rate artists I donate to them if needed as much blood as I have in my dick You know that I actually stain the tab, ready to attack classic like FILA Rime la kil n'am, I give the torpedo, I have dume flow on Godzilla drums My mental state is precarious, about to disappear Any trace of normal in the current person I can't help it, when I come, I throw venom And I'm looking forward to my stripe on the report card Yo-s gone with the head', when everyone wants in Bora Bora Yo, I collect money once a year to take a vacation to Socola They make you swallow your words when you open your mouth Even if you take Viagra, it still won't hold your dick! You talk too much in vain, you race like in Dakar Blah Blah it's clear, you have to drive with BlaBlaCar I'm banging them all over the drums, with top dummies I'm ready to attack, I take them out of the game, you know that actually at MIC they catch fire You have no place.. to slap yourself, only tricks everywhere You can't find a sucker now, they're all thugs In a magical atmosphere, KEPA actually clears a beach Wide texts, without margin, rhymes-in-load, rap from the front It's hard with me, don't mess with crazy people I'm going to make you leave instantly, or sing with Gașca Zurli I'm crazy bro I don't know how to say Yes, I wrote on this song as much as others on an album I lose myself in smoke... I do what I like, I don't despair When you put money in my account, I will take your opinions into account