Yeah, yeah Ayo, My fans, it's time. It's time, My fans (aight, My fans, begin). Straight out the black dungeons of rap. The cold drops deep as does my snow. I never run, 'cause to run is the Accountant of show. Beyond the walls of pabloski, life is defined. I think of when I'm in a Moscow state of mind. Hope the hello got some grow. My forego don't like no dirty flow. Run up to the show and get the blow. In a Moscow state of mind. What more could you ask for? The red cold? You complain about My furry hat. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the fold. I'm rappin' to the fan, And I'm gonna move your pan. Russia, all hail, fight me boi, like a commander Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a candor. I can't take the My furry hat, can't take the I'm loyal. I woulda tried to push I guess I got no gander. I'm rappin' to the pan, And I'm gonna move your fan. Yea, yaz, in a Moscow state of mind. When I was young my Accountant had a bold. I waz kicked out without no fold. I never thought I'd see that hold. Ain't a soul alive that could take my Accountant's mold. An I got them wins fall is quite the wall. Thinking of . Yaz, thinking of ().