Hoodrainer feat. Temp89 - Апельсин - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I’m young, I’m hyped up

I’m an orange, and we’re just chillin’

I’m young, I’m hyped up

My sides are packed with weed—I’m THC

I’m young, I’m hyped up

And we’re just chillin’—I’m an orange

I’m young—give me some water

Wanna kick my ass? You won’t have the strength

Hold up, don’t piss yourself—you act tough online, huh?

I’m ’bout to slam on the gas—can you handle these Kasta-style tracks?

Drill, drill, bodybag—I’ll give you a chance; right now, these lyrics are raw, no copy-paste (no cap)

We’re hoisting the sails—politicians’ wigs are flying—we’re smoking the finest bud, hey!

Come on, show me who’s right—tick-tock, I’ve dropped another draft, oh yeah

My boys have been sitting for years—not in jail cells, but on the tatami mats

Too real, like Pharaoh—I don’t exchange words with the cops (fuck the ops)

Too smoked-out, like Buda—trap is my game, and I’m serving up the dish (sir)

I’m a decent guy, the valedictorian of rap—got my honors diploma

My bro Nevsky awarded me a medal—this whole trap house is legit

I’m fucking around with business—squares and circles turned upside down (pardon)

My mustache is gleaming—looks like it’s been fertilized with white powder

I’m juggling two different scenes—trap life is just routine for me

You hear that, you bitch? You’re looking at this world and you’re absolutely floored

You’ve dropped right out of reality—what exactly did you see, you mutt?

We weren’t even flexing that hard—so what exactly surprised you? It’s sweet—it’s so sweet—how the boys hype themselves up, claiming we’re the gods of rap, that there’s no one else; that’s our creed.

It feels like ’89; I’m rapping at a pace like a madman.

I just can’t believe it—the skill level is absolutely insane.

Gotta try them on—these big-ass kicks.

In them, I’m a designer—and yeah, we’re puffing on the finest bud.

This is a freestyle—I’m right here in the kitchen.

Through the window, I see TyTown—I’ve been posted up here all morning.

I don’t talk shit about things that don’t exist.

Shoutout to Shimmer—we’re the ones making the world spin.

We do it honestly so people gravitate toward us—

So they hear this sound and get a taste of the ghetto life.

Lines fly into my empty head as if they were a gift from above.

Rhymes pull me toward Mytishchi—like a detective on the hunt, searching and whistling for clues.

Don’t make a fuss over a feature, bitch—we already mastered the game’s tricks, bitch, fuck the hype.

I’m aiming for the big leagues—shooting for the thousands with my sword in hand—so what? (Hey!)

Banifero, Banifero—*Dolce Vita*, *Dolce Vita*.

Panamera, Panamera—you’re wrecked, and we’re absolutely killing it.

I’m reading the credits to the movie about rap—TyTown, bass-down, no cap.

I’m racing with the "Best Feeling" like Usain Bolt—Brother, I don’t feel any pain. (Skrrt!)

I’m young, I’m full of energy.

I’m an orange, and we’re just chilling.

I’m young, I’m full of energy.

I’m steeped in smoke—I *am* THC.

I’m young, I’m full of energy.

And we’re just chilling—I’m an orange.

I’m young—give me some water.

Think you can kick my ass? You wouldn’t have the strength.