Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Звук


Интерфейс


Уровень сложности


Акцент



язык интерфейса

ru

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
1
зарегистрироваться / войти
Lyrkit

донат

5$

Lyrkit

донат

10$

Lyrkit

донат

20$

Lyrkit

Или поддержи меня в соц. сетях:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
The Alchemist

Oleg's Flight

 

Oleg's Flight

(альбом: Russian Roulette - 2012)


This is dedicated to you, the halfway crook
Poking bitches on Facebook
Same lame get his chain took

I throw flames let his frame cook
Glad bags and black mags is the season
Mothafucka I don't get mad, I get even
Burning the devil's, lettuce out the Garden of Eden
20 deep in the park, pardon my heathens
We all here, Grizzy Gang playing your pallbearers
I support the right to arm bears
Long stares, I'll lift you out your lawn chair
Nigga, better keep 'em calm when the Don's near
This is cloud rap off a loud pack
Committing foul acts with a wild batch
A game having, chain snatching
Crime figures, you know, my niggas
Fucking with [?] thugs
Out to get scratch like a lottery ticket
Never stopping my mission, nigga, uh

This is dedicated to you, the halfway crook
Poking bitches on Facebook
Same lame get his chain took

It's only logic that I gotta be the mothafucking man
If you could empathize with me then you would understand
That I'm an over achiever, a born leader
That was taught to never ever leave the house without a heater
And for the dearly departed, pour out a couple liters
And let 'em sink in the cement
Niggas said that I graduated from scheming
Well, maybe not, still California Dreaming
A parking lot full of Impalas and Beamers
A couple yachts, bitches swallowing my semen
Shoe box full of dollars for no reason, I'm a problem
Best believe it, vomit like I'm bulimic over something supersonic
Kinda rhyming procedures, ironic
My competition's just a bunch of juniors, Cuba Goodings
[?], in fact life is Russian Roulette
Only way to win, if you do it to death, it's F

готово

Ты добавил себе все незнакомые слова из этой песни?