Текст песни Streets Iz Callin' (DJ Quik) с переводом

I see I gotta play another game, so…

If I’mma go out, I’mma go out right, you know’m sayin'?

(Talk to ‘em, dog) Cool wit' it all

I’m untouchable (yeah)

I’m on a plane, Calcutta bound

Meeting with them people from that sample we done turned around

Trying to stop the war with a hardcore dancefloor type of lesson

‘Cause the truth will hurt forever more

Now what’s my punishment? (What?)

You mean to tell me I could get sued for making sure my people have some fun

and shit? (Damn)

It’s a funny game

It’s like the time that ol' boy got Pac, and me, and Jackie kicked off that

Houston plane

For drinking Remy Martin, acting up and starting

And that’s all I got to say about that—pardon

‘Cause that’s a binge frenefit, nigga been the shit

I fucked around and did business with niggas on some friend shit

But to no avail, this is show and tell

Only thing I ever got for working was a broken nail

That’s all I really know about the streets

It’s the hustle, get hustled, get down or get beat

Wake up in some herbs this morning

And I can hear the streets, they’re calling

Wake up in the pool this morning

I can feel the vibes, they’re calling

Now I done helped a lot of enemies that didn’t deserve it

That’s probably why I be the one that you won’t see at their service

We swerve and never nervous (Never) I’m a daredevil

Just ask the homie Pervis, nigga, we on their level

Ain’t nothin' gon' stop the flowing, and the 4−4'ing, and showing

That I done been a corporation when y’all was still growing

Niggas say I fell off, ha, (Fell off?) They gotta say that

That give ‘em false security to think they demo ain’t wack

Nigga, I’m standing on a bottle looking over the fence

Trippin' off this bullshit that we up against

Crippin' is mainstream, pimpin' is ballfield

The truth is stranger than a lie but it’s all real

I’m a mack from the P-card, a G, a star

A rider, a rebel, independent, believe we are

Trying to forget about my past, that’s all

Open a bottle of Cristal and pass it to y’all

Now what up? Where the riders at?

Wake up in some herbs this morning

And I can hear the streets, they’re calling

Wake up in the pool this morning

I can feel the vibes, they’re calling

Stomp out my house on the hill, to El Villa Negril

The Mediterranean, pay me and I’m back at the wheel

In Montego Bay, drinking with G, Dr. B

Chuckey mack a fe', watch her climbing up the coconut tree

Suga Free is no sweeter than the bitterest fruits

Blame it on Compton and my niggerish roots

I’m down to kick a hater with the biggest of boots

It’s not about the strap, it’s ‘bout the nigga issues, fool

I’m SuperCalifornialisticexpeal-a

Creep around the city in a red Impala

Short-tempered nyggas get stuck and die wet

And short-money nyggas speak a different dialect

So give me my Cris', give me my hits, give me my bitch

Give me my spliff, give me my fifth, give me my gift

Tropical skin color, nice and thin mother

Of my virtual kids because I hump in thin rubbers

Now…

Wake up in some herbs this morning

I can hear the streets, they’re calling

Wake up in the pool this morning

I can feel the vibes, they’re calling

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