RED BULL 64 BARS Lyrics – Białas

RED BULL 64 BARS Lyrics Meaning

Białas kicks things off with a harsh diss, basically saying some rapper’s career is worth less than loose change. He’s not holding back—he’s calling out weak bars and lame music that sounds like it’s allergic to quality. He’s telling the person not to even bother releasing their tracks because they’re just not it. That “spiral” line? He’s telling them to shut it down before they embarrass themselves further.

Then he moves on to a real criticism of the scene. According to him, a lot of rappers don’t want to express real emotions anymore—they’re only chasing money. He compares it to a train ride toward success, and says if someone’s heading that way, he’ll show up like a graffiti artist and leave his mark. It’s a slick way of saying that if you’re trying to win in the game, he’ll still be the one tagging your moment with his name.

He also talks about an interview that never happened. Why? Because he raps so powerfully, there’s just nothing left to ask. His music does all the talking. He doesn’t need flashy promo—his silence does more than enough. And when he does go live online, it’s not for clout; it’s only when real music is involved, like playing to the beats of Paweł Kacperczyk.

He drops a line about SB Maffija and how the old squad won’t ever be what it once was—kind of like Paktofonika, a legendary Polish group that lost its magic after a tragedy. But even in all that, he gives props to Pat, calling him a magician—like he’s still got that respect for the ones who’ve impressed him.

Next, he throws in a wild line about a photo that supposedly had 200 Polish rappers, but now only about 20 of them are still around. That’s his way of saying most of them have either quit or faded away, while he’s still in the game. He’s on the road again, like a truck driver, even after taking a long break from concerts. People thought he was stepping back, but really, he was just building momentum.

Same thing happens here—he wasn’t planning on rapping in this series, but it wouldn’t hit the same without him. The other rappers are just saying too much without saying anything, and he feels like the sunlight that breaks through after a storm—he brings clarity.

He compares his journey to some big names in the game. Like Nicki Minaj—he’s already done a lot. Like Wini—he’s still got more ahead. He doesn’t smoke anymore, like Biggie reportedly didn’t toward the end. He says his party lifestyle is over, just like Diddy eventually moved on. He’s dealing with a lot, like Igi (probably referring to a busy artist or athlete), but he’s still holding strong, unlike Cardi B who had her share of struggles. He even mentions standing on rooftops and almost dying, which is a raw metaphor, like Fifty Cent surviving after being shot—he’s seen serious danger.

He flexes on his discography, saying he’s put out more music than Malik Montana, who’s known for constant drops. While others waited around for problems to go away, he got to work. He’s saying he’s only got a few more years of rapping left, and he won’t be around much—maybe only in Poland for two months a year, like how the “kanapka drwala” (a seasonal burger) shows up once in a while.

He opens up about his past, saying he learned everything the hard way. His career path was full of struggle, like how Marina’s early music career didn’t go smoothly. He had nothing—just a kid sitting on a park bench, dreaming big. Meanwhile, the person he’s addressing was constantly getting scolded, like his dad kept buying him headphones just to hear more crap.

Now, Białas says he’s living a second youth, like Future, who’s known for reinventing himself. He raps straight from the heart—his own heartbeat is like his producer. He mentions people he’ll never forgive, even though he’s capable of forgiveness. Some betrayals just run deep, like tattoos you can’t remove.

He talks about how deeply he soaked up street life, thinking that was the only way out of poverty. He saw drug dealers in fast cars, but he went another route—he got ahead of his time by making music. He’s always said he’d be a legend, and now he’s just repeating it louder for the doubters.

He questions how others even think they could be above him when they’ve always been behind in the game, crawling like rats. He’s been holding his head high the whole time, climbing uphill from the start. He never wanted to be a “star”—he just wanted to take his shot and make his money.

Back in the day, girls didn’t even like him. Now? They love him. Even a policewoman stopped him recently, not for trouble, but because of his charm. That shows the switch—from crying in a small, sad place (a “blue house”) to living large in a clean, white space like the U.S. president.

But even now, he feels surrounded by fools in the rap game, to the point where he’s eating nothing but kebabs, jokingly suggesting the lack of substance in his surroundings. He brags that if someone brings him their so-called star, he’ll upgrade her like turning a regular car into a Brabus luxury model.

He makes it clear he’s not here to be a role model or teach anyone life lessons—he’s doing his own thing. He throws shade at a woman who quickly lost her status, warning that rising too fast often leads to a fall. And there’s a warning for those who act tough without living through anything real. Don’t disrespect people who’ve been through heavy life experiences—they’ve endured more than you know.

He brushes off haters, saying they can’t stop him or help him—he’s good. A bonus just came through, so he’s chilling. He’s already reached the top, made his money, and now he’s taking a step back and heading home.

Everyone around him has grown up, settled down, and built their families. He’s living a slower, warmer life now. That line about Peppa Pig is playful—he’s a dad now, watching cartoons, enjoying normal moments.

Everything he does now, he does for Zosia—likely his daughter. He sees broken families all around him, like stained glass windows—beautiful but shattered. Everyone wants to make money, but they’re all lost, not knowing what to do. People’s minds are closed, and then they wonder why no ideas come.

He ends on a heavy note—saying he caught the “virus” of chasing success when he was young. That line about “Solar” links to a moment when he said he’d crush it with Solar, possibly a nod to their work at SBM. He was just 19 then—like how COVID hit at 19. Everyone thought their plan wouldn’t work, but now, the scene’s full of fallen rappers, and he’s still standing.

He leaves out one dark line on purpose, throwing in a “screw sixty” kind of vibe, possibly about older generations or police (depending on the context). He ends on a god-like note—some people believe in him, some don’t, but the faith is there. He started off cleaning up hip-hop’s mess, now he’s sitting back comfortably, legs up, watching someone else take over.