Bitlo.ru - Ночная Королева

[Verse 1] [Phonk Diss / third-person — version 2] Night city, wet asphalt, smoke near the old garages, She walks again as if she knows everyone better than anyone. A slow step accompanied by a bass voice, a glance somewhere past everyone, Only this "menacing image" is ruined by a random laugh. She likes to repeat that she hasn't trusted people for a long time, But she herself keeps every single message down to the second. She says, "I don't care," closing her phone, And then spends half the night checking who's online. Another Monday — again, "life is different now," Sports, a regimen, and a sea of goals — so beautifully promised. But a couple of days pass, and everything is as usual again: Late evening, sweet tea, and pointless drama. She always finds a very important reason, Why she's been late somewhere again today. Someone has been waiting for half an hour under the cold streetlight, And she's still choosing between a hoodie and a coat. Gloomy old background music plays in her headphones, As if it makes her even a little more dangerous. She loves this vibe—dark light and low bass, Only when she's at home does she trip over her slippers every time. She's too fond of taking photos with random sad glances, As if her life is a hundred times harder. But all her friends have long known: In five minutes, she'll be laughing louder than anyone else. She can spend the whole evening talking about how tired she is of "stupid conversations" and "unnecessary attention," But when things suddenly get quiet and calm, For some reason, she's the first to text: "So where are you all today?" She likes to pretend to be cold, as if her heart is made of ice, Only sometimes she gets offended by a simple joke. And while she's silent with a very important expression, Everyone around her can barely contain their laughter. The courtyard at night, the dim light, the old town catching the noise, She's like a character from a fictional painting. Too much pathos, too theatrical a style, But without this performance, everyone would be bored. And even though she sometimes enjoys being a "thunderstorm," Responding too sharply and playing someone else's role, Everyone has long since become accustomed to her strange antics— This light noise around has become a familiar feature of the courtyard. The bass rocks the floors, the night grows darker, She again creates an image for random people. Only those who know her better smile in response: There is no real malice in her "dangerous style."