Текст песни Mr. No Print (Brotha Lynch Hung) с переводом

Yeah. luchini, Swartzanigga, haha

That’s why you gonna die

C.O.S., Northgate, my nigga Fig, Tall Cann G, Capone

I’m that nigga Sicx

Ain’t nathin funny about this money I’m tryin to make, straight broke

So everything I take serious cause 4−25 ain’t no fuckin joke

An everyday struggle, puttin down this hustle’s harder that it looks

But the mo' dirt, that I do the mo' these niggas hooked on bein a crook

Skrillas my major concern I’m burnin just to get a sniff

Of that scratch, but the catcher can’t see me so I’ll be ski’n

With my mask on; ski money gets my blast on, in a major way

So my paper stays stacked, way back behind some boxes

In that (?) wait that nigga in Killa Cali stay real

Automatically kill, without no feelings still gets dirty

Then I’m that-a-way, clockin mo' luchi than John Belushi

Made from +Blues Brothers+ so choose your mother’s funeral dress

Then feel my Smif & Wes, shiftin through you vest, rippin up your chest

Pickin up the rest cause when I does my dirt won’t leave a mess

All by my lonesome most of them (??)

Blocks stay hot like rock spots, with one-time posin on each block

I want G-knots, so I eavesdrops, on C-spots

Then I’m out with 5−0 never knowin about my caper

At home countin up that paper

Can’t wait to, go robbin through your hood

Mr. Invisible’s only concern is, to get his

When I get caught with them residuals nigga

So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue

In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who

+Mysteries Unsolved+, that’s why you never seen

The one that they call Sicx, on yo' late night TV screen

Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace

In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face

25 to life, that’s not on my agenda

That’s why I’m in and out before you have time to remember

I let your blood spill, then chase the murder with some 8-ball

And never leave a trace, I’m in and up outta the cut soon as you fall

Leave blood all over the walls, cause my massive blows to the dome

From the .44 chrome that was shown

But it ain’t no case cause the bodies all gone

In the trunk of the Chev', about to get thrown up off the lid

Cause whoever in the crib won’t live

When I kick through yo' door with some O.J. gloves hold onto my .44

So call me Mr. No Prints -- cause I never leave no evidence

I kill off all the witnesess, then I vacate the premises

Shit, that’s just another residence victim of them killas

Gettin hit up by that (?) Swartzanigga shit

Don’t make me spill yo' blood

And I’m hittin the bud as soon as I see them brains go split-splat

See niggas and bitches get left for dead and alla they kids get kidnapped

Put a fresh (?) on our (?) cause we planned and plotted

Premeditated then waited for the right time then we got 'em

Shot through the do', with the flag, hockey ski-mask on my face

Cuz see, I just don’t give a fuck

As long as they can’t see us make our escape

And that’s just in case, by some slim chance we leave someone alive

That’s why we in and up outta the cut so fast they can’t identify at all

Gettin high -- count up our dollars and our sins

Thinkin about how easy it is to murder like this

And leave no prints, nigga

So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue

In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who

+Mysteries Unsolved+, that’s why you never seen

The one that they call C.O.S., on your TV screen

Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace

In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face

25 to life, that’s not on my agenda

That’s why I’m in and out before you have time to remember

Call me Mr. 211 a.k.a. jack-yo-ass, 187 blast

Hit a nigga like stick’n’move, then dash on that ass

Gettin away, wit a ski-mask on my face

If there ain’t no description then there ain’t no fuckin case

Fin' ta hit your block tight, with my Glock hidden up under my seat

Let it pop 'til you drop, 'til you dead up in the street

Guts and meats all over the concrete, ain’t no time to sleep

Upon this nigga with this trigger love to swig that malt liquor

Cause I’m sick with that Olde English shit, heads gon' split

Black chrome spit, 'til you layin up in a ditch

So fuck your whole click, fill 'em up with them 16 slugs

Kill 'em up with that Siccness love — do or die

Who the fuck am I? — Tall Cann

21st meet your worst nightmare, leave 'em right there

Bloody up in the mud, cause this nigga ain’t got no love

Wear my gloves, cause I’m bouts to gets my hands dirty

Guts all over the place, face ready for plastic surgery

Never showin no mercy, in a hurry to do my dirt, then I’m out

Put my strap deep in yo' mouth, try to take yo' tonsils out

So watch for the ricochet, for my niggas they dumpin

With no clue where they comin from punk

Then I’m out your block with an empty Glock

Y’all niggas knowin nothin

So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue

In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who

+Mysteries Unsolved+, that’s why you never seen

The nigga Tall Cann on that late night TV screen

Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace

In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face

25 to life, that’s not on my agenda

That’s why I’m in and out before you have time to remembe