Текст песни Punchlines (Lupe Fiasco) с переводом

Yeah yeah

LOOPS, MATH HOFFA, SOUL KHAN

JUSTICE, LUX

Beloved! My life’s a knockout

I’mma punch in 'til I clock out

I stuck with it like the plastic on my mom’s couch

Eff with it if you rappers know what i’m 'bout

(All I got to show for) All these people I drive out

Wind up, or spring-door-drawer rappers I springboard

World-at-your-fingertips shit 'til I cut the ring off, champ! (mean)

All my lyrics poignant, disappointment (mean)

When all of these niggas pointing could get appointments

Sense of a nigga asking for 40!

But it ain’t like any of you niggas could rap it for me (facts)

Facts of the story, I’m going out so glorious

Notorious, all warriors know orators

Spit it for young critics, sketching from my reflection

My manual’s a solar panel, wait 'til my son get it

My energy take the imagery, main industry

I think Math thought we were stealing the game literally!

I physically spoke to him before that round

You know, when we try to build

Don’t let the Joneses get you down

(MATH HOFFA!) Lupe sent ya mans a track

All I needed was a chance to rap

I made bands with Smack

Wham bam, now I’m banned from SMACK

What Imma do next? The answer’s crack! (Hol' up!)

Do next, the answer’s crack!

Heads turn a little harder when you stand for facts

Niggas lying so bad, hope you cramp your back

From the hood, where we can’t relax, seen your man relapse

These punchlines I can’t retract

I put the lean on the pimp, see 'em dancers slacks (my bad!)

That’s wack

Now my knuckles gotta bump 'em with the boom-boom

Me countdown, me come from Brooklyn!

I just came to represent weed

Get my mama out the P’s, and niggas hating

You see the dedication, seeming like they seek my resignation

'Cause the streets need a cleaner reputation!

I see you niggas faking, I’m Moses: I need a separation

In the end, I just keep my reservation 'fore I be a mental patient

Why they trying to hate on your bro?!

I need a beat like a creep date-raping a hoe

Glory-hole-ass rappers still waiting to blow

I bring them bars back like you violated parole! (Whoa!)

Blame it on them rough blocks

Razor blades trying to put me in a lunch box

I got a heater turn Peter: nigga, guns pop!

Why step to me? You might as well cumshot!

My destiny is on top, I don’t got no time to fail

Devil want my soul, no kind of sale

Can’t pimp a Mac, go find a Dell

It’s all over: showtime, Adele!

Now I ain’t got a catchy song to make y’all love me

My lines fish-hook you 'til your face all bloody

Son, you’re fornicating with a force of nature, formulated

When the dude would sport a pager, and Taye rocked Rugbys

It’s Hugo Boss, screw your squad

I push them to the sky rim with a fus-roh-dah

And he got hella style to bring 'em in like Ellis Island

Fuck asking «Who's your daddy?»!

SON, WHO’S YOUR GOD?!

I ain’t here to fill a quota

I’m here to spill a soda in the memory of every rapper

They should’ve told ya I am not a human

That’s an illusion, I am the End of Days

See you let this plague on the wings of the Enola

Well, I know you wanna hear some punchlines, Lu!

But nowadays, it’s kind of hard to be a punchline dude

I mean my double-a time just could be tougher to contra

The truth could hit him harder than them punchlines do

Who got a vendetta? YOU?! Better get a deathbed or two

If I get it crackin', you better expect tentacles

Homie, I can multiply, you could have sent ten of you

I will outlast you, past my centennial

Talk about New York, but still we’re the Mecca

And you don’t know the time like you still wearing Mecca

My righteous words reach you through these Heisenberg features

So, I know I’m going to blow up like the wheelchair of Hector

Shorty screaming like she in the hentai biz

What the fuck?! Did y’all forget who the heck I is?!

I will burn your house down like it’s Left Eye’s crib

And then move your family up to where Left Eye lives!

Respect on the rise, but the money stay still

I’m 28, sitting on 28 bills

Son, I can’t chill if my cupboard ain’t filled

Man, I wonder when they’re gonna make the Hunger Games real!

(We need more shit like this man)

Uh yea, 30 bars to go

And whats a cool heart to 30 carts of coal

And whats a cool car when air part is poor

And the poor part means air part is cold

And the cold part is air parts a stove

So everything of them is oven

Also something to understand, what I say is ice trays

And Muffin pans also everything other than’s

Well let’s call it baked Alaska

Sriracha on the rocks a frozen yogurt on the woks, stop

Even rejection is perfection when i’m thru with rhymes

They cut the floors out my cutting room

Just to make them out the doors of the Guggenheim

Raps catholic church

Discarded bars would kill just to get back in my verse

Now what you just observed is you listening to some shit

That you’ve never heard and just to make it cray

I was talking about some shit that I would never say

In a playing song by the song that i’d never play

Yeah, even my wrong turns is a better way

Long term, I just come around the corner like the letter J

So I’m on the right track even when I’m led astray

Like misdirected lead let out of the letter K

Slang for chopper, not slang for throw it

If i had a knife you wouldn’t even know it

You knockers on flows for those just to bring it back (???)

You know how to say silent K’s and reattach chakras

Oh that’s a lot to say you never seen him before

Hanging in the hood just like three in a row

Snakes after I just like a G and a Joe

Check out my new chain, I hang a tree from my throat

Hanging a T from a rope, take it from me, I’m a bit crazy

Or you could hear it from the hoes like Dick Tracy

LU