Dirty Harry (feat. Bootie Brown)

It sounds like an attempt to survive between beats and internal explosions. At first, everything seems fun - you sing along, dance, even relax your shoulders. But then anger, dust, and the hum of a tired city are mixed into the rhythm, and suddenly you realize: this isn't dancing for the sake of pleasure, but a way to stay sane. Every word is like a discarded shell casing - short, sharp, with an echo.

Somewhere in this mixture of anxiety and groove, a strange feeling of freedom appears - the kind that comes not from victories, but from having nothing left to lose. The world is falling apart, the streets are burning, and the body continues to move in time, as if stubbornly saying, “As long as the rhythm beats, I'm still alive.” And there is a truth in this, crude but real.