Текст песни Green Island (Redman) с переводом

Motherfucking

Ladies and gentleman, my style’s rugged like Timberland

When I clock dividends women give me more love than Wimbledon, uh

My style flow local like New Jersey transit

And I can’t stand it, and you’ll need Teddy to unjam it when I cram it

I’m from, N to the E, W-A-R-K

Newark NJ got the AK, when I wave bitch you better say «Heey!»

I’m a Kid From the Hall

I got big balls to make your pussy walls drip in your lace drawers

Hey boy this is the way the East Coast swing it so bring it

Man, I turn your ass Brown-er than James with the Sex Machine shit

I keep the chronic patrol on the road

In case you’re wondering why I keep mad izm

'Cause I smoke everybody else’s shit up

My style’s the ultimate funk when I mic checka, one two checka

And I give effects to niggas with my Black and Decker, so check

The manuscript, man you flipped, put it down if you can’t handle it

Got a B.R.C.G., Blunt Rollers College Graduate

I got a degrees in Physics on how high I can get

Then next I check how many niggas that can die from my TEC

Cause the N-E-W-A-R-K

Is where the niggas robbin' and stealin' and buckin' niggas every day

Now Jersey’s on max so pass the dutchie on the left hand side

Got the hidash, in case we cridash, in my ride

So, sliiiide, before I call the medics

You can bet, bitch, you couldn’t get fly if you was FedEx

Can I, drop the funk on ya, run it on ya?

Strong as ammonia, smell it from here to California

'Cause Reggie Noble dropped that cock named Noble at Sunoco

I’m better than rice and beans when I rock you ocho to ocho

My music more underground than a kid at 300 XL

Convertible, fuel-injected, that’s why my style’s well-respected

I’m dope on the ridealz, so fidealz, on my didealz

And chumps are wondering what two niggas dropped the funk, funk!

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah)

Who is them niggas, who is them niggas

Who is dem niggas Redman and Reggie Noble

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah)

Who is them niggas, who is them niggas

Reggie Noble, drop the funk one time

Verbally you never heard of me, I smoke you third degrees

And 'cause surgery for emergency 'cause Reggie Noble style like burglary

I get hot busted when I dip my nuggets (Hey)

'Cause it take a million niggas to stop it just like Chuck did

'Cause we run around Newark with the nine on cock

Keep it heated for the brothers that’s not off my block

And if ya don’t know the flavor, be a tough guy and enter

So go show you more nigga events than Jacob Javits center

I’m genuine, to the rhyme, get your canines

Cops, I got the hot Glock stocked for when it’s playtime

I rock around the Robin tweet tweet on the calendar

'Cause you couldn’t pull my number if your class major was Algebra

I make bitches moan to my Stallone without Sylvester

'Cause I’m more deadlier than a whole school system of asbestos

So check us, I always smoke mad blunts before breakfast

'Cause I, Get Around like 2Pac with Poetic in my Justice

Hold tight, hold tight, everybody hold tight

I’m Super like my man Cat, 'cause I keep my styles jam packed

I (wreawow) like Anthrax, split my pants like Bill Bixby

You could tell the tracks was fat from the work of my MP-60

I smoke the chronic that’s why my sinus always fucked up

(Cam-boo, cam-boo cam-boo) Will have you fucked up

I blaze blunts with my nigga Mel-low, yo, say hello

(Yo, what up dog?)

Really, now pass the second blunt to Quilly

Now sit your big ass down 'cause I don’t know about this rap stuff

There wasn’t rap when I was pickin' cotton, saying 'massa'

Y’all young whippersnappers, with the caps on backwards

Man, y’all fuck around with Quilly I kick a bone out yo' ass quick

(Watch out now) I ain’t bullshittin'

I represent the O-O-O-O-OG's from '43 goddamnit

And if you keep on with that dirty mistreating

I’m gon' whoop your ass 'til your heart stop beating goddamnit

Ayo, chronic bubonic, the funky bionic you find it I’ll have to rewind it

Where minds are blinded, «Time 4 Sum Aksion», so time to find it

I’m smoked out like a cookout, ah, look out, my dick’s out

That was last album when I was bouncing on trains like Malcolm

I was hiiiiigh, I thought I wouldn’t survive

That’s why I quit my nine to five and got live

Because this «hip to the hop» shit fills my pockets

And I’m Audi for '94 because I already got my props

Hoes, hoes, and more hoes…

Nah nah nah nah n-nah

On the real though, on the real

All jokes aside, word is bond

I’ma come pick you up tomorrow (*Nah nah*)

We gon get some drinks (*Fuck that*)

Get the boodah (*Nah*), get the hiddash (*Ohhkay*)

And we gon chill, we gon smoke (*Fuck you*)

We gon get fucked up (*Nah, nah*)

We gon go right to the deacon and party (*Nah, uh-uh*)

Word is bond on the real (*Lies. Lies. Lies! LIES!*)

Yo c’mon B (*Yo, fuck the lyin'*)

I’m forreal—I'm forreal this time, god

(*I remember what you did to me last album, pussy ass*)

I’m forreal—nah nah, check this out

On the real this time (*You be gamin', god*)

I’m not gon front on you word is bond (*You be gamin', forreal*)

We gon go right to the muthafuckin' deacon and chill, nigga! (*Forreal man?*)

Word up! (*Pshh, a’ight man. Word up, don’t play me. Yo—Anyway where the fuck

the deacon at?*)

A-heh… My DEAC-in yo mouth! Heheheh hahahahaha

(*Yo FUCK you*)