Текст песни Chiraq vs Ny (Montana Of 300) с переводом

They never thought it would happen this rappin' stuff

Was facing cases because I got caught with gats and stuff

My haters thought I wouldn’t elevate from that trappin' stuff

And fuck twelve they want me back in the back with cuffs

God knows my needs that’s why I never ask for much

I work for mine I swear I never had good luck

My past was rough, my moms was high my dad was drunk

Start baggin' up, I used to feed my mattress bucks

Rap god a.k.a. hip hop’s asthma pump

Don’t pass I’m clutch I’m gladiator Maximus

About my bills when I spit like I’m Daffy Duck

Expose the truth then turn and tell your pastor, «church»

They want beef until I give 'em what they askin' for

They ratchet tucked Bruce Wayne the way we maskin' up

We ride with straps you niggas better fasten up

I keep the pump in my whip like I’m gassin' up

That’s big sticks when we slide and we don’t pass the puck

The only time they want smoke is when you pass the blunt

We on your lawn with them choppas like your grass gettin' cut

I blast, I bust, you die you just got whacked and touched

Your bitch in heat

She say she want me bad as fuck

The head was good

Deep throat like a giraffe and stuff

She gagged and sucked

Bitch damn near made me crash my truck

The ass was pumped, I did my thing I smashed, I fucked

And you ain’t winning if you spendin' more than stackin' up

If you ain’t mastering the math of your cash, you’ll flunk

I’m FGE, them Titans scared to clash with us

I’m in my bag bitch don’t ever think I’m packin' up

Way before the rappin' bitch I was trappin' I used to touch bands

I got to that bag from the floor just like a dustpan

How is there so much creativity up in one man?

Giving kids food for their thoughts I feel like a lunch man

Niggas spent their last on a pair of shoes with a jumpman

Feeling like a mill when he walk, he must be a Bucks fan

And I’m no longer stuffing pounds in the duffle, son

I stay on you 'cause I care to see you smile and I love you

If you don’t add to the big picture you won’t value the puzzle

Please teach your kids that life is awesome

Sometimes allow 'em to struggle

And if they spend more than they stack

Then they won’t value the hustle

If you can’t nip shit in the bud and push then how you the muscle

Huh? Boss shit, call up my hitters and tell 'em tell fam

Hop out, put that strap to his head like he Quailman

Replace the hammers used and then pay him after they nail fam

What you know about killers comin' dressed as a mailman

My homie told me I really don’t think they ready, fam

I bet he drop when I roll up on him just like the jelly, fam

We cuttin' I put that on my blood just like a band-aid

We comin' 'round that bitch blowing at you faster than fan blades

See, I just wanna see every one of my mans paid

Mama in the mansion relaxing, don’t need a damn thing

Drinkin' lemonade with her feet up under the damn shade

Niggas didn’t wanna believe me until them bands came

Knowing when I go in I’m known to go on a rampage

Madness written all over they faces like Macho Man shades

It’s like, ever since I got my bag right (woo!)

All these bitches wanna act nice

It’s money over bitches I’m pimpin' 'em like a Cadillac

Bitches know I’m lit yeah I got 'em drippin' like candle wax

Thinkin' 'bout the top, reachin' for my belt like a ladder match

He say he want smoke plus his bitch on my pipe, I had to crack

Rap god, baby, my lyrics could cure cataracts

Arsonal just said, «niggas lucky that you don’t battle rap»

The fake be flippin' sides for that money just like an acrobat

The real ones gonna ride through them ups and downs

Like a camel’s back

One life in God’s house

Ain’t no second life where the attic at

From the struggle I had to grind to get out my habitat

Orange and green buds by the pound

It’s looking like Apple Jacks

Four hundred forty-eight

When I package that, clients back to back

Matter of fact, only you pussy niggas get mad at facts

I put that on my sons it ain’t really nothin' to have you whacked

If Kris Kross, he can get thirty up out they Daddy Mac

That’s thirty for you haters, I’m shooting tell 'em come hack-a-Shaq

Pictures with my kids in my cribs ain’t no need to caption that

Ain’t nothin' like the hugs from your cubs

When they know they daddy back

My daughter mother strapped, .22 in that Gucci fanny pack

Plus I dropped a bag on her kicks, nigga that’s hacky sack

G-O-D my chauffeur he opened that damned door for us

Labels ain’t controllin' us, ballin' like no one’s holdin' us

Every line’s potent that’s why they come get they dope from us

And this is not a brothel, I promise you ain’t no hoe in us

Big choppas, takin' off tops, that’s can openers

The bullets in my clip, yellin', «pussy come get a load of us»

Teflon in my jacket, I’m Spawn with that ratchet

Put pawns in a casket, who wants to get it crackin'?

I’m a hundred like Wilt, tell your nigga he ain’t built

If he act rowdy I’ma pipe her, then that nigga gettin' killed

Skrrt off up in traffic bitch I’m smooth like silk

Left him wet and what came out that .40 cal wasn’t milk

Know your part, go home if you ain’t goin' hard

The coldest art that’s ripping rappers' souls apart

Came from the bottom I ain’t going back like Rosa Parks

These other rappers don’t compare to me like Noah’s Ark