Lyrics Oxxxymiron - Город под подошвой

Don, whether the Volga flows - a shoulder bag,
Chest pain - there is a secret, opened with a crowbar, not a key.
How many more miles, a short flight didn’t count,
A long dusty mess, the van is packed with boxes of merch.

We believe - lucky, our beds are portable.
There are two ways for the minstrel - corporate or apartment.
The schemes are the same type, everything is now MC, because,
Having generated a change, we have reached a paradigm shift here.

Now rap multiparty, battles spawn
I look in the mirror like “How many troubles you have done!”
I would enslave all rap, but all the time on the road,
The industry has a nervous tick - valocordin angina pectoris.

Gather the court, but the winners are not judged.
We are the first Cro-Magnons - we have beaten out in people.
 I lay on you, mankind, five times,
After all, we act strongly, as if the jaw of a pithecanthropus.

After all, my rap, in short, about the fact that
Already which year which city is under the sole.
Uphill when rushing, then downhill when sickening,
I'm not like Gulliver, but still a city under the soles.
The city under the sole, the city under the sole
Traffic lights, state duties, fees and customs.
I don’t know whether it’s in the mainsail or to the bottom,
You live under the heel, I have a city under the sole.

Past the poplars, the ripe bread of the fields,
Where is the ghost of Yesenin, a cross, a prayer service, oil.
From the minivan I see the earth, I see the sky above it.
We will overcome everything, if not, then I'm not Aquarius.

Our land drowns loners like puppies,
He was a stranger, but Ohra, Corruption, Ilya - more than a family.
I wrote a bomb at night that I started to pour urine,
I so wanted to belong to something bigger than me.

The world is empty, even with every second get to know each other,
I am not a biorobot with a positive Komsomol member.
Deliver me from your panacea, home Paracelsus,
After all, for me - an end in itself.

Mad - we don't give a shit, Tony Stark as a standard,
A pair of countries, motorways: Krasnodar, Tatarstan,
Moskabbad. Passports to us like hot cakes,
At least on the MKAD to the start, at least in Madagascar.

You know, all of my rap, in short, about the fact that
Already which year which city is under the sole.
Uphill when rushing, then downhill when sickening,
I'm not like Gulliver, but still a city under the soles.
The city under the sole, the city under the sole
Traffic lights, state duties, fees and customs.
I don’t know whether it’s in the mainsail or to the bottom,
You live under the heel, I have a city under the sole.

Give the strength here not to collapse and not break. There is a route
And there is a settlement on the highway, and they are waiting for us there today.
Whiner, don't be feminine
Ruslan has soundtracks for the journey in his deck.

Sleepy again, the rise again dawned
Again bronik, again the road, a bag behind his back.
Everything is quick, if it is shitty, rain, overcast.
The bridge to Asgard after, let it be just lucky with transport.

I make each of my verses a self-portrait,
Often check, read rap like a speech therapist under the marathon.
Stencil on parapets, logo on the wall,
Everywhere my teaching is to everyone like Mohammed and Baphomet.

I am a star? Give a warm blanket and a hood
Wipe wipes - and that’s all, the mark is “good”.
They used to say, “I wouldn’t go with him in intelligence” -
I didn’t go on tour with you; you didn’t pass the test.

Homie, know my rap, in short, about what
Already which year which city is under the sole.
Uphill when rushing, then downhill when sickening,
I'm not like Gulliver, but still a city under the soles.
The city under the sole, the city under the sole
Traffic lights, state duties, fees and customs.
I don’t know whether it’s in the mainsail or to the bottom,
You live under the heel, I have a city under the sole.