Schokk - ультиматум - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The camouflage is original, I play GTA,

the suckers who wear fingernails have bad breath.

Rappers have hype, Dima Bamberg has a mission,

my chronograph has a Swiss name.

You're still the same poor, insecure guy,

I'm taught how to survive by the security forces with shoulder straps.

(I'm on Warner Music, you're on DSKh, hahaha.

You believed the suckers again.)

Dima Bamberg, outrage, 2024.

You change tires, I change Moscow apartments.

I look younger than everyone at 44,

you, idiot, haven't learned how to live.

I eat crab in Boston, never leaving Moscow,

a rich girl from China tickles my balls under the table. Three missed ones from a fem - she liked a narcissist,

I can't be responsible, but fucking is fucking awesome.

And your life? Sausage with ketchup.

A couple of tracks a year - you have nothing to tell.

You drank away your dream with assholes at the dacha,

15 years later - and you're still the same loser.

I promoted us. Your hype is entirely my doing.

And you, loser, security won't let you into clubs.

After concerts, you puked in the corner

while your older brother changed the needle.

Your tracks are the same, you idiot, you repeat yourself.

A heartless "fuck-fuck," and you're still pretending.

We were racing through red lights while you were walking across zebra crossings.

First Class, Sanya Bely, but you were never that.

Never fucked anyone, never beat anyone. You're a rebel in person, but you were a loser in real life.

You live alone, with nothing but work.

A fucking achievement—respect from idiots.

Your fans are losers, trash, drug addicts, and alcoholics.

You're such a loser—even Oxy cheated you out of royalties.

Yatsyna dumped you, you shitty rapper.

Even Vector A dumped you.

Fake numbers, fake likes—

and once again, Shock is tightening the screws on your hype.

Three-minute banners for a VK photo—

marketing geniuses at DSK, haha.

You were always afraid of me—too cool and flashy.

Your level today is a Belarusian milkmaid.

I'm too lazy to finish the verse... fuck. First Class is a fucking loser, an insecure loser who has wasted his chance at life...

I've fucked half of Moscow over the years.

I've already wasted more money than you'll ever earn.

I've lived my life. And you? Who the fuck are you anyway?

An idol for idiots? I can delete your catalog from all platforms.

Fuck you.

First Class is Zheka Frank,

an artificial being without intelligence.

Milking your fans—like you don't know?

A pittance in your pockets—I feel sad about the inheritance.

Your audience are idiots.

Your tracks are empty.

And you were fresh and cool,

who cares that you're a loser, and your lyrics are a lie.

You screwed the game in your time,

and Oxy screwed your corpse.

Your hype is artificial and a sham.

You've gone off the deep end—and there's no turning back.

I can fuck you—no problem,

because your punchlines are all on hold.

How many lines have you muted, shitting yourself, huh?

At heart, you're a bitch, a first-grader.

Vanya was cooler than you, every bit.

Royal flush—I'm laying my cards on the table.