Текст песни Application, Dedication, Discipline (RoQy Tyraid) с переводом

(Na-na-nanana-na-nanana grab the keyboards, get your resumes. Shsseh

Let you people, man. Most of the Independent Rappers, most of these people you

listen to, they have a job.)

Gotta be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x 3)

Gotta be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x3)

Man. I’ll gladly find a legal side hustle before I struggle/

Sick of grieving over how much diesel my ride guzzles/

Started fillin' out applications/

Temp employment agencies hitting me back with placements/

My staffing agent told me the work is basic/

They’re searching for a person with certifications in technical service,

who’s courteous and patient/

And that I’m worthy to take it/

My uncertainty met with encouraging statements concerning my pay.

I returned to the matrix/

Client recruiter leads me through the hall/

Like a paraded prisoner, my sentence is an interview with Paul/

A 6'2, heavyset dude who’s head was shaved read my resume/

The stench of Brute resonates/

Obligatory interview questions like «what's my biggest weakness?» /

Stories of adversities and what I’d do to beat it (boo) /

Where I went to college and why I didn’t complete it (boo!)/

If I’d tell my boss if I saw someone cheatin' (BOO!)/

I’ve lacked attention span since elementary lesson plans/

Somethin' somethin' «commission». Somethin' somethin' «an extra grand"/

Surveying cliché motivational pictures hangin' from the wall/

An indication I ain’t stayin' here long/

A handshake, though I hope he can’t tell I was bored/

«Congratulations, Mr. Raiford and welcome aboard». (Thank you) /

Where the hell is my tour and taking workcations abroad/

Ain’t really started but I already hate my job! /

Gotta be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x 3)

Gotta be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x3)

(Man I can’t even go with you guys today, man

I wish I could do it. To be completely honest, I have to go to this stupid—

I have to go to this stupid job, man. *dap*

I will see you later, let me know how it goes.)

Make my lunch. Set alarms/

Get two forms of identification for them tomorrow/

Take a shower, brush my teeth/

Read the bible with my girl and take my butt to sleep/

See, seconds turn to minutes. Couple minutes turn to thirty/

With anxiousness, I’m afflicted. Mentally, I am with worry/

Tossing, turning up under the comforter/

Adjustin' the, cover, still no slumber comes. Still woke/

Nyquil from the cabinent, lacks thee/

Ability to render me unconscious. Thoughts just process/

Socks is hot I’m fidgeting them off me/

Air conditioner is off-beat, antithesis of frosty/

Soon as I notice I’m dozin', my eyes were open/

I’ve run out of damn sheep, the start of a bad week/

I can’t sleep/

Can’t sleep (x 5)

(Yawns)

(Ahh. Damn. *Yawns* What time is it? *Yawn* Ah, man. Oh sh— ah, ah damn.

I gotta, I gotta work! Ah man.)

7:29 in the morning, I’m ironing clothes. Jaded/

Find my composure and slide through the door/

Ride for an hour or so to the town where its lo-cated/

‘Til I’m caught in traffic, speedin' dodgin' cops that’s armed with Radar

cameras/

Treat my car like target practice/

Let my foot up off the gas, ‘n pass ‘em/

Mash the peddle down, a revvin' sound ensues/

I’ma rebel now, my dude!/

Un-leveled ground, I felt some altitude. My boo text out the blue and said «I'm

proud of you."/

Sounds like the job I wound up choosin', ‘bout to ally-oop some Power U/

That’ll be ass-stounding, ooooohh!/

I deserve it, damn. Instead of feelin' cursed by my financial circumstance/

Killed off my ego and returned being a workin' man/

Spilled cappuccino on my business casual shirt and pants/

Hit the bathroom, rinse it out. Let paper towels work it’s magic. Coffee spots is

sure to vanish, don't dab it/

«You blot that shit!»

I should be rockin' ‘cross interstates/

Instead of riskin' takin' bread off of my dinner plate, because I clocked in a

minute late/

General managers rubbing opulence in your face/

Putting customer data into this shotty-ass interface/

Too raw for this call center, processing claims/

Weekly direct deposit creates a false sense of pay/

But it’s hard to complain when not many have an occupation/

How could I not be thankful? Plus it funds my career/

Be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x 3)

Gotta be a grown man and get a gig, well I suppose

Who the hell wants to be responsible? (x3)

(Me, man. *Lauhgs* «Hard head makes a soft ass», is what they say.

Not tryin' to do one step forward, two steps back. Run on. Run on a treadmill

all day. Work hard or work smart? You tell me.)

Wants to be responsible

Who the hell wants to be responsible (x 8)

(Uh. Uh Uh. Uh. Yeah. Grow up. GROW UP! Yeah. Uh. Uh. Uh. Wake up from your

dream! You hear? Uh. Arza, what up? Writer’s.)