Lyrics Баста и Смоки Мо - Музыка Мафия

I bite into your ear through Mike, my Mike, Mike Tyson
I went crazy like a kid from a Chinese spice.
And hip-hop, like me, isn’t quite eating up my brain.
To cleanse thoughts of toxins, be-be-be-be ...

Clean product, tuned and music traffic - mafia.
Point of sale, see my schedule, learn geography.
Smokey Mo is with me and it means a city on the Neva.
Delivery to each house with a courier, do not hit.

Grains sprouted into shoots, shoots into steel stems.
Stems in the trunks, or the thickets of the steppe themselves.
But I can easily give this jungle fire.
And on hot coals will set off on the return journey.

I read like a first-grader a primer at my desk.
But better than snooping around, like you.
Professors and bachelors.
They say they have no equal, but I equal their rake.
My flotilla is sinking, my paper boat.

Nah * th versus and its several versions.
I know whom I respect, I know who is on the list of perks.
Caverns say I have a reputation for being a fierce villain.
Well, this is a brother for me, and I will try it on.
How many were there, gangsters, killers, thugs.
The foundation of my studio, the place of their mass grave.
I do not care about the benefits, as Gufu on his liver.
My success is doubtful, like the success of Malevich Square.

Hey, everything's on the surface.
To understand the truth, it is not necessary to grow up.
Sorry, I have not removed the mess in the music.
Dirty drums and spizzhnaya loop * nna in the nails.
Talkers say I have problems with text and cue ball.
But it says the opposite, the fact that the club is jam-packed.
You play in the cities, I visited almost everyone.
In almost every, almost in every - twice.

Wife beautiful, daughters are growing.
They told me you were dumb, no, no, I'm right there.
Mr. Energizer, solar panel.
Indo house, MC and Vasya Vakulenko beatmake.
Welcome!

Smokey Mo and Basta, St. Petersburg and RND.
Seagulls are chasing, and a karate master.
All areas, all portals.
Mafia music.
Gray slums, you are at the bottom.
Fraternal connection, a killer track.
All areas, all portals.
Mafia music.

Here is tea Vasya and smoky Sasha.
Surprise the whole trunk of lazy.
There may be two.
Give me a loop, I’ll fry it normally.
My grace period, a gang of rapists stoned.
I am not an actor, my whole life is a movie.
Yuna rhymed before this, falling his nose into a snowdrift.
True to the tracks, it is under the visors of our caps.
Its religion, brotherhood, resembles a sect.
Saldo-fake rap, they sound like paralysis of the larynx.
Kitty whispers like a car, damn electric guy, I know, I know.
Want to do the dirt, do the dirty, not the best.
I'm the best in the cube, the Picasso method, my fingers are clenched.
This is our sign.
Black boiling water, in the glasses, the attic can be shaken well.
No one expected this.
But someone on top has his plans, put together, as it should.
I prefer to live like this, from school times.
I like to dream and hammer into a microphone.
You hear, oh ... hammer into the microphone.
My bet is oi, in on con.
My first salute to the city on the Neva.
I am far away, but I remember an orphanage.
The first name is Smokey, the middle name is MO.
Our mix of lyrics with cool cue ball.
Upstairs in the top hovered with smoke under the ceiling.

Oh gods, let our horse ride first.
And your will will be fulfilled without fail.
We rose from the bottom.
Now it is appreciated by areas and cities.

(2x)
Smokey Mo and Basta, St. Petersburg and RND.
Seagulls are chasing, and a karate master.
All areas, all portals.
Mafia music.
Gray slums, you are at the bottom.
Fraternal connection, a killer track.
All areas, all portals.
Mafia music.