В.Бутусов "Вселенская"

attacking me 4.

Yeah…
I thought it was talk.
Now the room smells sweet and wrong.

She said love was hunger,
I laughed, poured her wine.
Her eyes stayed still,
like heat before the crime.
Told me, “baby, taste this fire,”
I thought she meant desire.
But the air turned thick,
and my pulse climbed higher.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

The lights flick, kitchen red,
metal glint near the bed.
My laugh don’t sound the same,
mouth dry, forgot my name.
She hums a tune I never knew,
each note cuts clean and true.
Something’s cooking, smell of spice,
and I pray she’s joking twice.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

Walls melt, I taste the lie,
table trembles, reason dies.
Her hands too soft to hold a blade,
but love got rules she never made.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

Now I see what she meant that night.
Not love… appetite.
(repeat chopped 3×)

Slow it down (Chopped & Screwed Rap reload)

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