Текст песни Beasts From The East (Lost Boyz) с переводом

«The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today and a

high of 89 degrees»

The cops said to me, «yo kid»

«Partial clearing and a low of 74»

Damn! Kghhh!

Basically, kid

Word, Ren zone, wanna hit?

Queens!

This microphone I got some of this

You know how many member L.B. Tran, get motherfuckin' biz

Along your child, we got the funk Doctor Spot

Canibus and A+ from far-sized block

Yo, yo, yo, yo, Big Dog locks it down

Yo, we come through like bulls, see, 'cause niggas takin' two pulls and pass

Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass

I pack a .380 in my stash for protection

Family to raise, the world is acting crazed

I never thought I’d make it, it was hectic when I scrambled

On point like a knife, I’m takin' life as a gamble

Livin' in the rotten apple, yo where every core is rotten

All my niggas, rest in peace, ya see you gone but not forgotten

Now my main wifey, deaded shady chicks

Official Lost Boyz since the year of '86

And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill em with the passion

At times I feel like blastin' in Jamaican Queens fashion

You think you can fuck around, but kid you’re just thinking

It’s over when I’m sober, imagine when I’m drinking

Without blinking man, I’ll tear your crew like pages

I’ll rip you from the backyards, parks and on stages

Yo, A+ the lyrically superb one, spittin' rhymes

Off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drums

Rockin' shit, make the opposite team call a time out

Knocking niggas three times my size out

The crowd loves me, so when I ain’t around they ask for me

I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy

For the fast money, I get up in that ass money

The fact you tryna test me kinda bugs me

I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up

Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets

I blow up the spot when it’s time to rock

I speak out my voice box and peak out at a hundred watts

Who wanna cipher? I get dumb

Word to my mother, the father, the holy ghost, and Rev Run

When it’s all said and done, I end the service

Concoctin' the type of verses average MC’s seem to worship

Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, Big Dog! Turn the track off!

Fuck how you feel

Yo fake MC’s, step to the rear!

Fuck how the lyrical skills get

Yo real MC’s, bring this shit up north!

My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch the five speed and bust

The more the merrier, secure the area

My La Familia is ultimate superior

We don’t jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers

I bounce like trampolines when I be blowing the fiends to pieces

Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus

When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro

I get punished like Pharaoh for splittin'

You’re better off singin' Christmas carols for Christmas

Because I’m on point like bow and arrow equipment

The president of chicken head conventions

I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'

I got a headache from the stress, success, not wearing a vest

5−11 for being dirty and court’s at 9:30

Yo, Mr. Cheeks, I made this bitch call police

She tried swallowing a nine piece, forgot the warranty on false teeth

I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirelli’s

Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready

Sharp as machete’s, matter of fact I slap for cognac, can the beef heavy

Canibus brings the sickest drama, fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor

I smack bitches who try to suck dick through a condom

Playing with the mic is something I won’t do

My only concern when I approach you is to roast you

I smoke you and whoever you standing close to

And make every man in your crew deny that he knows you

Defeating niggas like Seagal Steven

Putting MCs in positions to prevent 'em from breathing

I’ll make you question any and everything you’ve ever believed in

By peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers

What’s the matter with y’all?

I splatter y’all against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult

None of y’all got the balls big enough to battle

I go «On and On» like Erykah Badu

A hundred times nicer than the best is

Twice as arrogant as KRS is, who wanna test this?

Fuck y’all, you don’t impress me and no one can test me

An MC so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me

All that shit you popping will stop when I put you in a headlock

And apply pressure until I crush your motherfucking noggin

I grab mics and push niggas to the left

So fast their hearts end up on the right side of their chests

My hypothesis is that nobody can see this

Lyrical genius, I got it sown like a seamstress

But if you want to battle, I’m down

If you got nine lives, I’ll take eight of them off your hands right now

Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear

If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard

I’m the illest from Queens to the new Jerusalem briddicks

Anyone who ain’t feeling my shidick can suck my didick

You need to quit it, if you ain’t spittin'

More than fifty bars per minute 'cause you ain’t in lyrical fitness

Kicking boring raps with metaphors that’s wack

All of y’all motherfuckers need NordicTrack

To get ya weight up, fuckin' with Canibus you get ate up

Get beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up

Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age

Back in the days before Bob Marley was rockin' a fade

Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves

Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves

I existed, in the garden of Eden gettin' lifted

Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam’s mistress

Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness

The Canibus is spitting till he’s spitless

Fifty bars of total sickness, you won’t forget this

I’m putting every wack Emcee alive on my shit list

Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted

Took you a minute to exhibit that I’m sick wit it

Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit

Going once, going twice, sold to that nigga named Canibus

Me and Mr. Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor

Hopping out the Huey copter to suey chop ya

Group Home and Def Squad

Nine-Seven, nigga