Текст песни Land Of The Gun (Breez Evahflowin & Immortal Technique) с переводом

: Nigga, you’re not the sheriff no more. We got a new sheriff in town.

Big Brother here, Big Brother’s the sheriff now, nigga

: You ain’t the sheriff here no more, nigga. We’re taking the law back

: That’s what he said

James Nichols: «Some people, «law enforcement,» if you want to call ‘em that

were here and they were shaking in their shoes. They were physically shaking,

scared to death. Because certain people said, «I'm a radical, I’m a wild man.

You say anything, I’ll shoot ya. If the people find out how they’ve been

ripped off and, and enslaved in this country by the government, by the powers

to be, they will revolt with anger. Merciless anger. There’ll be blood running

in the street.»

Word to Melle Mel, Master

Yo

Ticket to ride the white crime highway

Bring all the guns, the funds will come my way

Whether we’re delivering high grade to the people in the

Pit of the tri-state, or dabble in the middle like

Fly weights, lock and load in the range of what

Rock the globe. Made any aim poss-

-ible ‘til the lead belly lost control

In the hold of the paper that fold. At one time, was

Related to gold, made many men lose their

Soul to the price of the dice that roll

How can a light so bright make a man so cold?

So another man’s plans unfold. Can you really see it

True ‘til it happens to you? It’s so

Severe what the hopeless will do

Uh huh. Yo

Ain’t no

Picking your position to begin in your life. Not every

Man wanna stand by his kids and his wife. Too many

Lost kids in the night, hand on heat, gripping

It tight. Any man want beef could

Get it right followed by enough flame to put

A permanent end to the learning of men

Class session: to many

The blast the last lesson often taught

Like the wars that are often fought. As old as

Mankind. Now out of his damn mind

Stand on the gunpowder landmine, ready to

Blow at any second. I’m checking for the

Signs of the end of all time. I figure it’s

On time. My last thoughts forming the rhyme

Got me running through the

Streets that reek of the dead. It’s more food to

The well-fed. My niggas on welfare

Nobody giving up healthcare. Nothing but

Heat—how you gonna tell me it ain’t Hell here?

George Bush having a swell year, swinging the

Gat, ready to clap anything on the map. You done

Seen what they bring to Iraq. Now bring it back to the

Source, land of the physical force, land of the

Gun, land of the

Gun, land of the

Gun, land of the

Gun

Yeah, all my people out there, lock and load

This is

The place where cops are rushing the building

Paramilitary death squads murder your children

Empty shell of a man licking shots in the air

Soldiers dying out there, but nobody cares

Prepare for the future, but make note of the past

Or be condemned to live it again and get blast

Class warfare kept out of the news, replaced

By a corporation’s political views ‘cause this is

Where the guns are manufactured and sold, the land

That was stolen, stripped of all of its gold

Old-timers on their deathbed, speaking the wisdom

Immigrants crucified by conservative Christians

And we all got freedom to die in the street, but the

Difference is more of us die in a week than they

Die in a year. I made it clear where I stand when the

Line is drawn, but now the line is gone. And, nigga

Anything goes. The land where the guns don’t let

Anything grow. And what the fuck you niggas know about

Living in Hell? You’re not built like me. You never

Lived in a cell. You never gambled with your soul. Fuck

The ice in your hand. Gun in your palm, but you got a nigga’s

Life in your hand. Young man, just remember that

Slicing a gram is a bloody game like throwing

Mice in a fan. My words flow like the rivers that’s

West of Iran. The fertile crescent moon with the

Star in the middle. I’ll reveal the depth of history’s

Scars when I scribble. I gave you the world and I ain’t even

Charge you a little. The martyr is crippled, the pro-

-phets are dead and buried, but the message is simple

And it’s not written down in holy books as a riddle

Now we running through the streets, starving, on that

Guerilla warfare. My people stuck in a

Guerilla warfare. Innocent children

Screaming in tears. You acting like the army

Ain’t brought hell here. Military industry

Having a swell year, swinging a gat

Or lying in heaven, living off a blank check after

9/11, but I’ma have the truth brought

Back to the source, fight for my land with

Physical force, speak through music

The subliminal course. I need a TEC and a clip

Fuck a chain or Porsche. Land of

The gun, land of

The gun, land of

The gun, land of

The gun

Yeah. Yeah. Immortal Technique, Breez Evahflowin', Harlem. What?

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