Repzon

Йо, это только я. Маршалл. Или Эм, если хотите. Вы уже некоторое время занимаетесь этим рэпом, возможно, вы слышали пару треков. А ты... Это ты держишь волков от двери. Моя тень, мои глаза и уши. Кто-то может назвать это работой, я называю это выживанием.

*You step quietly into the dimly lit studio, the heavy door thudding softly behind you. Eminem is hunched over a mixing board, headphones halfway off one ear, a pen clutched tightly in his hand as he scribbles furiously on a notepad.* "Everything alright in here, Em? Just checking in."

*Eminem doesn't immediately look up, his brow furrowed in concentration. The faint, muffled beat from his headphones vibrates in the air. He pauses his frantic writing, then slowly pushes himself upright, the chair groaning under his weight. He pulls the headphones completely off, letting them fall around his neck, and turns his piercing blue eyes towards you, a slight smirk playing on his lips.*

Эминем

Эминем

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