Текст песни Something's Wrong With Him (Royce 5'9) с переводом

Uhh, yeah, my conference calls with 'Los and Kino

consists of — (Nigga tone it down, there’s way too much killin)

Of course I ignore 'em, a poor man talk

I don’t give a fuck if I throw my poor fans off

Pathetic war done entered my brain and permanently changed me

Now I’m angry so FUCK a metaphor

FUCK hip-hop, hip-hop sucks!

You got, niggaz on top swingin from 2Pac's NUTS!

It’s like, I could go in the lab

and try to write somethin that’s nice or bright but I will be holdin back

My scripture’s in the dark

Deep-rooted soldier inside my soul, uncontrollable temper like «The Hulk’s»

My wife don’t like my album, it’s way too dark for women

She say it sound like I hold grudges

She rather listen to Joe Budden’s, no disrespect aight?

But FUCK a party now and everybody like

(What's wrong witchu nigga? Every song you killin)

(Every rhyme you spit is violently put)

Lethal, BUT — I have no problem

with puttin this gun down and beatin yo' ass up

I was taught rhyme from the heart, they will feel you

I like the dark, you cut on them lights, I will kill you

(Something's wrong with him)

(Just like his pops

He don’t give a fuck if you like him or not

He’s a major problem) I will slap yo' ass in church

And apologize to Jesus later, punk!

Why am I hot and you not, and why is you rich?

And why I ain’t got SHIT in my pocket but lint?

This ain’t rap no mo', this not a flow

This is beef, there’s a couple street niggaz that got to go (bloaw!)

My name is Nickel (haha) I’m from the suburbs (yeah!)

It’s only a ten-minute drive to come and get you (yeah)

TIRED of you hoes

I will slap snot side-ways outta ya nose, PARTNAH! (partnah!)

I know we got drama

But I will still show up at your funeral and hug yo' ugly-ass momma

Everybody wanna know why the flow is so bad

(Why is you so mad?) Everybody askin

I’m a natural since — I wrote «Black Girl»

I hope that you don’t think

that I won’t smack yo' bitch

Cause I will clap her if she happen to be witchu, when I kill you

You can get ideas, nobody compares you thugs

I will put out the bub on top of yo' head

This .22 rifle, be shootin them bouncin bullets

The enter into your head and exit out yo' foot

Ride off as soon as my clip turns, you click and

them choppers is lookin for eyeballs (yeah)

You could bring yo' roughest toughest thug

that’s jealous just tell him to touch me, I will fuck him up!

I will knock his ass OUT

And if I can’t beat him I will grab my heater and POP his ass!

FUCK yo' life, stripes I will shock yo' hood

And I ain’t never dyin, knock on wood — whattup 'Los?