U ask me: "What is it?" I tell u so easy, That u will go away from here knowin' that it primacy; And if u see, u aren't know a fuckin' thing, that's trick: When u catch in your mouth my prick. My microphone is ready to burn, check it, That's not traditional when a rapper in pink jacket, Your style is drooped trees, I'm a half of your blasted peaces, I'm a Master of Ceremonies, my songs are masterpieces. Oh, boy, had gone down your poor ship, Your style is dung, rap is fuckin' bullshit. 2Pac is a legend, my music was latch on, My presentation is, obviously, eye-catcher. There are a lot of mcs and, of course, everyone has his eaters, Call themselves sex-giants, but dicks smaller then 10 centimetres. Union Joint forever, others are loosers, Treff is my nickname, TreffyMusic is my Land Cruiser.
Chorus: Hands up, we started our programme, Hands up, our noses have no gramme, Hands up, give me fire, give us fire, Hands up, our heads are full of ire.
Music must be mysterious, Treff is the best in the stereo, The song like horror tonight for boys, For rap mcs like sugar turn up my voice. The style like snake, bands like stake, The rap my burden, that since birth I have taken. U like toys, I'm like a toyman, I'm a fire, blood of the royal, Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb-destroyer. Ch-ch-check it, your rap like champaign, I can't understand your champing, I'm a champion, u are the champignon, My name is discussing by them, u should chatting on. Rhymes in my head - it's like rashing tipple, Energy flush, English Rap for Russian people. If u opposite, my dick for u in gland, UJ splendid band, Russian Rap for England.