[Part I]

[Intro]
The cover used to be carved out
The binding was often embossed
A book looked different — from printing to writing
An antiquarian would shrug: "I guess it's not meant to be"
So

[Chorus]
I'm sorry, but my fate's book's pages have been greasy for so long (uh)
The title page is written all over, the illustrations faded out
Whole paragraphs are missing, ex libris is coming off the endpaper
Bookmark is ripped out, turn the page over at your own risk
And you'll realize how different it is
From the letters to the ink
You can't spot the original style
My fate's book's pages have been greasy for so long
Because I'm rewriting it

[Verse 1]
I wish my songs were happier
More frivolous, bolder, more natural
Dulcinea, you know: I'm only like this when I'm tipsy
And with you, 'cause a circus in my head is crazier than Cirque du Soleil when I'm by myself
I'm on my way to beat the fuck out of windmills again
When I should've beaten myself up for my pointless fear
One fourth of a century of doubts did me bad (rrrah)
Creativity Crisis: I've done so much, lost even more
It's so fucking often a kid's calmed down:
«Don't cry, It's just not meant to be»
But you were given a chance
Don't mess around — make it come true, don't let it go
To make sure, entrench it like a flag, they've got a handicap
A candidate on a vacancy to never be forgotten, don't fuck around, the young are looking up to you
I wish I'd known better, but came back from LA
Won a lottery, fucked up, as always
Got lost in Fresh Blood, BM business
Lost my grip, put myself into a goddamn bodybag
How would you know how is it to be tired from victories?
But I managed to destroy by myself everything that my opponents couldn't
And trust me, to see how the statue of you is getting knocked down from the pedestal is scary, but priceless

[Chorus]
I'm sorry, but my fate's book's pages have been greasy for so long (uh)
The title page is written all over, the illustrations faded out
Whole paragraphs are missing, ex libris is coming off the endpaper
Bookmark is ripped out, turn the page over at your own risk
And you'll realize how different it is
From the letters to the ink
You can't spot the original style
My fate's book's pages have been greasy for so long
Because I'm rewriting it

[Verse 2]
I wish my songs came out more often
Imagine: sun's risen up while you were in the forests
Stepping out of it, you're squinting: the world seems fictional
Your only thoughts: «Where have I been? How did I end up there? Why not earlier?»
That's me getting away from another episode
Self-deprecating psychosis once every season, and the rakes
Are all the same, I'm still stubborn, don't trust the pills
Even for nothing, a real struggle, that's my thug life
My favourite approach: to get a superpower
Put myself into an unescapable well, so
I'm my own jailer, judge, patient, pet
Who forgot, why was he locked up to watch after the experiment (damn)
I'm writing this on my birthday — thirty-five, and again
Everything's at the last day for whatever reason, could've cut my wrist
My principle — devalue myself, clock's going backwards, so childish
Everybody dance: lantsa-dritsa-op-tsa-tsa
Sabotaging my own effort that I've been, for another year, procrastinating like Krupin
A fear, the game can't be flipped over
A fixed idea, mon ami, but imagine for a second
If I put my head together, how would your heads blow?

[Part II]

[Verse 1]
(Oooh)
There was a rumor that a default kazach can't do shit
Your flow - trendy 140, but you'll
Dance seven-fourty, I'll give you a crossover
Dreaming about shit ton of tenge?
Make mumble, not Bumble Beezy voiceover, fuck
Isla, we're paired, but my kosher dick isn't for you — this Izya is for Luchnik (ayy)
Isla de Muerta, pig's eyes are teary from wind
Kazakh rivers, like Emba, flow down your apelike flat face (plak-plak)
You're crying: afraid like Kollegah
You're tall IRL, but short on tracks
If Isle of the Dead — I'm The Gulag Archipelago
Named "Islam", but can't tell where's Mekka

[Skit: ОХРА & Oxxxymiron]
— Fuck, man, this isn't Isla de Muerta
— Who's not Isla de Muerta?
— It's not Isla de Muerta that you're paired with
— What do you mean not Isla de Muerta?
— You got another kazakh, his flow is just as fast and he's kazakh as well
— Fuuuuck, for real. Apologies to all of the kazakhs

[Verse 2]
Wait, hey! I take it all back
You're all different, this isn't a random kazakh
Completely different face
I see a reproach in your wide, huge eyes
My opponent — Aslbek
Asil, Asylllum, a retarded mambet
Stole a cassette of Bone Thugs, signed it "Das EFX"
Now has half-baked rice on dinner, breakfast, lunch
Fuck-ing bab-bler
RAM (RE-VOLT) — trash
Found his style right in the gar-bage
Ayy, Revolt is quite lame
Better with Ryedkin holding hands on Buerak
Asilbek, I'll make a kuerdak out of you
Don't embarrass Tamerlan — bank Imperial
Listen, I've got three X's in my name, ayy
Cut it off, like Niki L, quit it
How can you win a prize here?
You've got three L's in your name — loss!
Can't catch the references, Asylum?
Chinese, keep the bacillus away from the vaccine
Otsillokoktsinum, pass the message to your mum from me: «Darling, thank you for your son»

[Verse 3]
You're an antagonist and a fighter in this round like Bib, Keramzit and Zyabe (ha)
But your first concert was in Eleventh in Alma-Ata
You came for me and Vitya SD, I'd never confuse you with someone else
Asilbek, call me by my full name
I've got more friends in Astana than your funeral can gather (real talk)
Who did you send me?
More naive than Niko Pirosmani's art
Don't count on me talking to you for long
Wake up, boy, you're no one in Kazakhstan (ay-ay)
This fucker thought it's a hussle to name himself after known features
Like, Smoky said something about Aslll is rap, Oxxxy said that you'll get on a -ick (bitch)
I didn't get any fat insides
About your rich college and your father's company (yeah-yeah)
Your sueing label, a movie's where pop is
And about Soros' fund, that supported your squad, but (oh-oh)
You're such a vapid shelpek
Who gives a fuck about leaking info
Fetch me a shek-shek, I'll give you an advise, while beshparmak and shurpa are cooling down: (ah)

(On Kazakh)
- Asylum, how are you doing, makalai?
- I'm fine, making kazi out of your horse (woah)
- The Kazakhs want you gone
The guys won't even look at where you're from
Hey, dickhead, check it out (ayy)
They'll find you dead as the track finishes (ayy)
You're not a "krasavchik" even though you're a Kazakh
Buried your white line, whiteear (ah)
Suck a cock, fucking pussy, ptui!, dammit