Текст песни Behind Closed Doors (Wc And The Maad Circle) с переводом

And The Maad Circle[-W.

C.-] Aiy Toones! What’s up, man?[-W.

C.-] How many of your people in your neighborhood got one of this? What’s that?

I have just fallen, and I can’t get up! We’re sending help immediately Mrs.

Freeture[ One: W.

C.]Dear Mr.

chief of police, excuse my handwritingBut try to understand that I wrote this

with a broken handI’m just one out of many from the inner cityWhose been a

victim of unseen police brutalityBeating with a Billy Club until I became

numbPistol whip — bruises on my face from a handgunThey said: that I was

speeding, going over the limitBut when they pulled me over man, they never gave

me a ticketThey just said: I better stick both of my hands out my windowReal

slow or be one dead negroUhh.

but I was used to the routineI moved in a slow pace, cause I don’t wanna be a

mistakeBut that’s when your boys got the tripping on meThey pulled me out my

car and they’re both started kicking on meI ain’t no Punching Bag man,

my name ain’t Greddy or FreddyFor a cop to be beating me anytime that he’s

readySo I dropped to my knees and I covered my head tightBut that’s when they

bust me in the neck with a flashlightBut still I stayed calm and took the

painPictured when my ancestors gone through the same thingBut then I started

thinking about the brother from Al TadenaWho once have said: I was the next in

their agendaSo I gotta flip, hurtle, hit the corner with flash bagsSo held my

chase in Jesse York’sBut when I woke up, another black and a white

roomParalyzed waist down from a bullet woundAnd now I’m being charged for

resisting arrestBut it was either catch a bullet or be beating to deathNow for

the rest of my life, I got tubes connected to my lungsJust because your boys

wanted to have funSo here’s a complaint, to let the whole world knowThis is

what goes on behind closed doorsThe policemen are your friendsThey’re here to

protect and serveBut as long as you’re white then you’re alrightAnd you won’t

get beat to the curbThe policemen are your friendsThey’re here to protect and

serveBut if you’re black, you better not talk backCause if you do;

then you will get burntBack up on the streets after five long hard yearsI did

my time on Concrete in Steel tears (HELL NO!)No — it wasn’t the crime of the

century (YEAH)And no — I didn’t enjoy the penitentiary (What's up?

)But that was in the past now I’m back on the pavement (WORD!)With two kids

that gone on full probationIt feels kind of good not to carry a shankI got five

hundred dollars on my way to the bankOh oh, here come a black and white;

I’m gonna get jacked tonight (Who Was That, HUH?) and it’s Officer O.

WhiteThe same crooked cop from along time ago (What's up?)Who planted an ounce

in my homie El CaminoWith a smile on his face, he said welcome back niggaHad

his partner on the side with his finger on the triggerI knew the routine,

so I assumed the positionStarted searching through my pockets like he was on a

mission (WORD!)Yo, came up over my nuts and look what I gotI said:

That’s money that I made in the Metal ShopAs he put it in his pocket and said:

End of ConversationAnd you better start walking or face a violationI looked

him in the eyes and knew he was a punkAnother sissy with a badge just trying to

front (WORD!)I told him take off your gun and we can go someAnd if you?

from the shoulders, you can have my funds (WORD!)He didn’t hesitated and threw

the first punchBut quickly I ducked, and went straight for the nutsWith a left,

right — right left, right left ----→ Ice CubeGoddamn! — but did you knock him

out? ----→ W.

Yep, and that’s when his partner put his gun in my sideAnd said:

Get in the trunk, punk; we’re going for a rideThey took me to a hood that my

hood was feuding withLocals in a park, drinking Forties and kicking it?

is getting wet, and waiting for a picnicThey let me out the trunk and said sick

him (Sick of that bullshit) That's how the story goes (What?) — in a rat

holeCause I’m a second class citizen, behind closed doors[ Three: W.

C.]Hanging at the crack house, slanging my ya-yoI'm making about a twenty

thousand dollars a day or soBut here comes Johnny the NarcoThe neighborhood cop

from around the blockHoping that he can pot my spotBut wait a minute,

he is solo — Oh noSomething smelling fishy, y’all, cause that ain’t like 5−0I

wondered what’s up, I seen him slowly stepping out of his rideNow he’s calling

me off to the sideI’m peeping out the corners for back-upCause nowadays smokers

be snitching on niggaz and setting them upBut it was far from a set upIt was

more like a proposition aimed for me to stay in my businessA little side money

for the dirty copsTo keep the feds off my back while I’m slanging my rocksI

should’ve listened to my homies and told them to go to hellAnd took any chance

of getting busted and going to jailBut instead, I got to paying the cops off

weeklyUntil they took advantage and started getting greedyThat’s when I told

him that I was stepping outI’m just a memory from the past, and they can Kiss

My Ass!

But that’s when they started black mailing meAnd yelling and telling me: Uhh.

you, black sheeps will be sorrySo later at that night, when I was at home

sleepSomebody kicked in my door when they yelled out FREEZE…

Open that Door! This time the suspected drug dealers spotted the crash

officersbefore they hit the front door.