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БАЙСТРЮКИ - СМЕРТІ ЗОШИТ (prod. By Nockonsep)

БАЙСТРЮКИ - ЩЕ Б ПАК

БАЙСТРЮКИ З ПУСТОГО В ПОРОЖНЄ

Байстрюки - SAS

Байстрюки - Смерті зошит

Кухня

Перший сингл з альбому "Альтернатива для України", який вийде цього року.

Реп

(lyrics)

still got no dollar signs
bad drugs i resign
take em all by my side
take em down flying high
dont remember wasting time
take another coke line
get lost break my spine
mixed the vodka with the lime

need another refill 
forgot how the pain feels
everything is downhill
need to take chill pill
now im at a standstill
movin like a wind mill
i dont wanna sign a deal
labels dont get my appeal
im just bein real
tellin you how i feel
doin it by my own will
yeah
doin it by own will

fucked up and for what
on the wrist a big ass cut
whats the reason i forgot
get the knot and pack it up
make decisions on the spot
if you dont you might get shot
you can take the shortcut
hit you up and headshot
blood spill in  the double cup
drink it up numb as fuck
spookyman is in the cut
look at that the time is up
why we always dying young
dont got the answer for you unc

i aint want no pitty or no sympathy from all of you
lately ivbeen feelin like i wanna die 
suicide
bad thoughts in my mind
cant escape my habits who am i
just another fuck up
wakin in the middle of the night 
shit aint right
turnin on the big ass light
in the mirror see a parasite
ugly but i love it by design
reflecting in my dreams
realised this shit aint what it means
got a 9-5
but i got wasted right before i fell asleep


do you believe in free will? (prod. $lxwOMG)

The legend goes like this:

One night, after a long studio session, you’re on the last train back home—half asleep, headphones dead, phone at 1%. The city feels weirdly empty. As the train pulls into a random station, you notice an old, beat-up red mailbox on the platform. No Canada Post logo, just three words spray-painted on the side:

“SEND WHAT YOU CAN’T SAY.”

You get off the train without even knowing why.

The mailbox has no slot for letters, just a cracked phone screen bolted into the metal. When you touch it, your own iMessage drafts pop up—every unsent paragraph, every angry note, every “yo I miss you” you typed and erased. Messages to old friends, to people you lost, to the city itself. Stuff you forgot you ever wrote.

Then the screen glitches.

The drafts start turning into song titles. Your late-night rants become verses. Old voice notes you saved “just in case” become hooks. The phone freezes on one final prompt:

“LAST CHANCE TO SEND: greetings from toronto (unsent)”

You hit cancel.

The station lights flicker. When they come back on, the mailbox is gone. All that’s left is a folder on your phone with rough demos that didn’t exist five minutes ago.

Over the next few months, every time something heavy happens—a fight, a win, a panic attack, a crazy night downtown—a new “unsent” file shows up in that folder. You never remember recording it, but it sounds like you: tired, honest, and way too real. Eventually you realize the album is basically writing itself from everything you’ve lived through in this city.

So you finish it. You polish the drafts, build around them, turn the chaos into tracks… but you leave the title exactly how it showed up the first night:

“greetings from toronto (unsent)”

Fade Away

Without U

Слухати Ще один зан на інших платформах band.link/IgkTm

Байстрюки - SAS

i suck big dicks