Текст песни Fike - Style Protectaz

My house is Saint-P,
Where there is fog, the weather is damp,
Choose me, in choosing me,
Consider that there will be no paradise ahead of me
Bro, I quickly cut the staff
Where every third hasla,
Those who were cut down from the wheat
Who maneuvered fakes our masses of man,
We're in fifth gear
Will surpass whether the hunchback bentley is lying,
They hit the membranes from the windows of the tank,
A music lover would have a fucking dream,
Hey man stout, with a shovel,
Dads, dates where are you paws,
Choose anyone from the label
Appreciate as pirates do
The styles are worked out to enslave,
Those who are offended or need to sweat
Pay a Fika party to give all the flows, then blow them up.

©

Panin