Текст песни Dollaz + Sense (DJ Quik) с переводом

Now let’s get down to business, bitches!

'Cause it seems like y’all just keep on tryin' to diss this

Nigga that you know that’s been down for years

I’ve clowned for years, and y’all could never fade my peers

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven

Nine, ten—Eiht, you can’t win

'Cause all the way around, nigga, I gets respect

And you’s a nigga that can’t even get no props in yo' set

Tragniew Park you say, huh?

Wanna be rippin', but now it’s time to do some set trippin'

So listen close, 'cause I don’t want y’all to miss

That I’m 'bout to break it down for this bitch, check it

Acacia, Poplar, Maple, Spruce, Cedar, Elm

Westside Trees sprayin' all the fleas

That’s from the three and four hundred block P-Funk riders

(So niggas watch yo' ass at that center divider *gun blast*)

Now Aaron Tyler, tell my why you seem so tame

When I caught you at the airport, shakin' like a crap game

You looked up and you seen my niggas comin'

And you looked like yo' bitch-ass was 'bout to start runnin'

But all I wanted to do was kick a little conversation

(Yo, whatup?) And see if we can fix this little situation

But would I fuck you up was what you wondered

Yeah, that’s probably why you

Changed your little pager number (punk-ass!)

But bitches like you don’t grow

You can’t even look me in my eye, let alone go toe to toe

And callin' me skinny, you’s a clown

I’ma call you Theo 'cause you weigh 92.3 pounds

Wack-ass actor, movie script killer

Fool, don’t you know? Quik is still the nigga

Compton psycho, boy, you oughta quit

Your records don’t hit, and bitches don’t jock your shit

You need to stay down, you Compton clown

And get off of the nuts of the niggas with guts

Because I’m down with the Trees, I’m down with Death Row

I’m down with Black Tone, and I’m down with the fo'

So when we cross paths and I hope that’s soon

I’ma boot yo' mothafuckin' ass to the Moon

You need to quit bangin' under false pretense

'Cause if don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Now I’ma swing it to the right and, right into the left hand

Take a deep breath and cook it like a chef and

This is dedicated to the C-P-T

No, better yet T-T-P, or the niggas that look up to me

I make it my business to be that true forever

And whenever I can come clever, well, that’s my endeavor

So whether or not you understand

That there’s only one DJ Q-U-I-K

With no C still you can’t be me

Because I’m floatin' in my Lex and

Depositin fat checks and

Gettin' mad sex while I floss the NSX and

Doin' what I wanna, and you’s a goner, nigga

For thinkin' that you can catch me slippin' on a street corner

Remember Compton’s in the house, and Quik is in the hood

Sippin' 'nac with all my niggas 'cause it’s to the good

So don’t knock it 'til you try it

'Cause Eiht, he tried to knock it

But he’s still walkin' round with my nuts in his pocket

So put the P in it, represent and sip that Miller

And for those of y’all concerned, this is still Eiht Killa

Let me take a load off my scrotum, little pest

If it don’t make dollars, nigga, you know the rest

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Now I done sold my fuckin' soul to the shit that I kick

While you groupie-ass niggas keep on ridin' the dick

You oughta know that DJ Quik

Ain’t your average everyday motherfucker (hah)

Slick like a snake 'cause I stuck ya

Now, I never had my dick sucked by a man befo'

But you gon' be the first, you little trick-ass ho

Then you can tell me just how it taste

But before I nut I shoot some piss in your face

You fuckin' coward, tremblin' like a nervous wreck

'Cause when I caught yo' ass, you put yourself in check

And when you left my presence you left speedin'

You ain’t no fuckin' killer, you’s a comedian, beyotch!

Tell me why you act so scary

Givin' your set a bad name with your misspelled name

E-I-H-T, now should I continue?

Yeah, you left out the G 'cause the G ain’t in you

Remember that time you was rollin' on the Westside

And a little brown bucket pulled up on your side

Caught at that light in your Camry in the midst of a real killer

Tell me, did you feel a little nervous? (hell yeah)

You was in the shadow of death

With two trey-five-sevens pointed at your chest

Hmm, whatchu gon' do? Where was your niggas that kill at

You ain’t got no killers, so kill dat!

Holdin' up your hands and beggin for a pass

You lucky they didn’t just to get to dumpin' on yo' ass

'Cause this game you think is funny is some real shit

So you need to be more careful who you fuckin' wit, beyotch!

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

I’m through playing wit’cho punk ass

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

So don’t kill game, let the pimpin' commence

If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense

Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince

Shouts goes out to my well-known road dog

What’s up Donzelle Tru?

They don’t understand it, baby, they can’t fade us out here on these Compton

streets (beyotch!)

It’s bigger than they can imagine

To the whole entire Death Row family

Both sides, whassup, niggas?

And my nigga big Suge, known for keepin' shit poppin'

To my nigga Big J, my little nigga Hi-C, little straight G

And that little singin'-ass nigga Danny Boy

Y’all don’t understand, y’all can’t fade this

I’m the first nigga that was «Bangin on Wax»

Yeah, if you remember, 1987 underground tapes

And it don’t stop, and it won’t stop