Mafia MRC

The metal of the streets rings even in the pauses. Here, every breath smells of gasoline and adrenaline, and every “pow” is like a signature under your own legend. In this world, people don't speak loudly - they just click their lighters, start their engines, and drive forward while the asphalt is hot.

The city is boiling, like a cocktail of coke, gold, and nerves baked in the sun. Everything is under control, but on the edge - where luxury coexists with danger, and style with gunfire. The shine of a Mercedes and the trace of a scar are equally part of the form.

The music moves like a motorcade on a night highway: confidently, smoothly, with a predatory smile. Here, they don't play a role, they live it.