Текст песни Sumthin' to Prove (Monsta Island Czars) с переводом

: This is a special broadcast. Rodan has suddenly attacked. It’s Rodan.

The attack started at 11 o’clock, and now he has destroyed everything in the

city. Leaders have called out their defenses. There’s no doubt that this is the

same Rodan who comes from Monster Island

: What’s gone wrong with him?!?

Yo, fuck the intro

Yo, keep crowds hailing me like a taxi, learned there’s more to life

Than busting gats, B. How the fuck you gonna blast? You ass

Like Andy Kaufman reading from the Great Gatsby

Relax, G, get gassed up or let your lungs collapse, B

Collect more gross income ‘cause my galactic rap status is

Tax-free. Wile E. Coyote rhymers copped your wack raps

From the factory at ACME—just the facts, B

Urban dragnet, supreme architects serving dialect

Bell curve side effect, Caucus Asian, latter years

Coconut, almond, spiced Bacardi Dark, no taste for

Flatter beers. Fronting with your mouth open, let me empty out

My bladder here. Blowing like Jon Faddis, atomic air

Traffic blacking out your stratosphere. Off the top of the locker

Cleats on the mic, kicking flows, balling like soccer

Slow niggas rambling on and on incoherently

Like Chewbacca, used to be on the block corner, snow rock

Betty Crocker, chrome showing, dome glowing, blowing

Jewels growing out the side of my crown chakra

You’re a killer gorilla or a babbling baboon? Part-time

Wack-rhyming, no-bottom-line, circus-rapping buffoon

On some pop shit like a balloon, carry out paper quest

To stay fresh, stuck in a gay lifestyle, switching

Like Mae West. Wise winds from the East squeezing at

The Beast and stray West, gods locked down do the science and let

The day bless. In jail, ain’t nothing to do but work out

Jerk off, go to war, or play chess—what's your degree?

Cop a plea, change your story like the weatherman? Whatever

Man, you ain’t fly like Rodan, you fly like Peter Pan

In Never Never Land. Move mountains in telekinetic mode

Escape the straight and narrow, floating over your pathetic road

Rhymes written in genetic codes, Flightpope Ro' perched

Atop Five Pillars of Hip Hop, aesthetic soul. Come on

That’s bad, man! That is bad, bad, bad! He ain’t never done, that been never

done on a record before. That’s bad, brother! That is bad. Believe me,

believe me

Ayyo, peace while I rest on this

Pigeon whose back I’m digging. ‘Til Judgment Day, I’ll be my own Lord

Self-Preservation be my religion, fly in the fastest

Lane chosen, wings protected like safe sex in a la-

-tex Trojan. Skiing uptown’ll leave your brain frozen

Gat explosion leave warm blood flowing

Internal organs exposing correlation to the cosmos

Urban legends up the block, street theologians

Headline a bill, throw a jewel at your grill, blackened steel

Bring the heat like military fire drills, drop a

Bombshell for real, units move half a mill, with or without

A record deal, still give these crab industry, En Vogue

Motherfuckers «Something They Could Feel,» aviator wristwear

Elevated textiles, imported Timberlands from

Switzerland scuffing up your reptiles. Niggas ain’t my son

Gods treat you like a stepchild, take your booty

Wack sex style, flush it in the cess pile. Mara-

-thon lyrics, corny critics can’t run the next mile

Abandoned outcasts in exile, never seen again

Tossed or lost into the X-Files. Sold Luther that 9

Milli luger, attack the mic like a cougar geeked up

Got phony thugs scared to speak up, make a nigga

Balls freeze up, lay parallel to concrete, spraying

Caps, tearing your knees up. 2000 years

We’ll reappear, change the Earth in worldly ways

Ancient of days, come to show the blind God in the form of a man

That is worthy of praise, investigate doctrines

High awareness through my lifetime, social issues that incite

Crimes, make a generation of scholars live existence

Between the white lines—no more sniffing, saying

«Fuck a 9 to 5.» Now all I do is fucking write rhymes

DJs scratch the wax like shaved balls, rabblerouse

The popped dog like rebel slave calls, navigate

The southern state like maze halls, chain, shining medallion

Swinging like stalactites on cave walls

Bounce the rhythm like a tambourine, step up on the scene

With a monster theme and a third world dream, impale bubblegum

Rap stars on microphones infected with gangrene

Deconstruct contemporary pop culture to reinvent my own

Mainstream. Come on

Yeah, brother! I tell you, brotherman! What you got there? You know what?

We got a thing. You know what?

Yo, my name was Rodan

Before the wack Godzilla blockbuster, my name was Rodan

Before stellar dust collected into the first star cluster

Set up shop at the pearly gates, move an ounce while defending ‘em

Cherubim on the mic, lyrically descended from Big Daddy

Kane and Rakim and ‘em. Golden Age legacy platinum writer

Of a new era, second millennium, triple CD blazing

Up like three flavors of tropical weeds when you’re blending ‘em

Connect ghetto slums to heavens, turn opposites to synonyms

Bend grammar like antimatter, distort the space-time-

-rhyme continuum, Five Percent rhetorical

Prophecies like an oracle, bad luck to emcees like a Kennedy

Reach across infinity, reestablish my divinity

Between me and the eternally great enmity

Imagine a natural-born enemy befriending me

Offending me with what you pretend to be. How the fuck you a killer

With blatant homosexual tendencies? Come on

That is unbelievable. That is unbelievable, man. Dagnabbit, that’s bad there!

That’s sure ‘nough bad there, bro! You walked into that one, brother.

Yo, I went through the zone, man, that’s it! That’s all I’ve done.

Now that’s what’s happening! Freeze!"