Текст песни Up! (Z-RO) с переводом

The less I fuck with you niggas, the better I feel

Don’t know no nothin' else what I can be if I wasn’t real

I borrowed those lines from Plies, that’s just how I feel

Brass knuckles and a 38 with a beam, that’s just how I chill

AK-47 and a ski mask, that’s how I kill

Professional dranka' my nigga, my cup will never spill

Where I’m from, the police is the only thing I’ll run from

Only thang on my mind is money, and what bitch I can get some from

I ain’t never been a bitch, don’t know how to be a hoe

Only thing I know how to do is collect my dough

So if you owe me money, pay me on time

8−7-tre-4−2-4, death before dishonor on mine

Me be a punk, I would have to leave this world for that

Matter fact my momma coulda' had a girl for that

If I hold my hands a certain when I’m in the courtroom

That could guarantee me walkin' out of the courtroom

Ain’t no other rapper got a set of skills like Ro got

I swear I’m half a man and half machine, call me Ro-bot

You ain’t gotta wonder if Z-Ro gon' ever sell out, Z-Ro not

From Greenspoint to Mo-City, Texas, all of that’s Ro block

Kick door burglars started in my hood, so watch yo' door lock

Kick that bitch in, roll in yo' shit, take everything and then roll out

That was '94, I was hiding out, homicide was trying to find me

Ain’t that a bitch, now I got my whole city and state behind me

I’m cool as a popsicle, in the freezer, in the winter time

But I’m a damn fool and a half about respect, so give me mine

Uhhh, so when they lay me in my hole

They gon' say that was a man right there homie, I put that on my soul

I ain’t never been a bitch or don’t know how to be a hoe

Only thing I know how to do is go get the dough

The cheese, the bread, the feria, lucci

Hoe I just want what’s in your purse, you can keep the cuchi

I ain’t never been a bitch or don’t know how to be a hoe

Only thing I know how to do is go get the dough, Heyy

Even if they kill me I ain’t going no where

Turn up the volume to the radio, I’ll be right there

(Ro-Pac) It feels so good to be free, I ain’t even thinkin' bout a penitentiary

Apple sauce and yellow grits, that ain’t breakfast

T-bone steak and eggs back in Screwed Up Texas

Ain’t a thang change, everything still the same

Haters still hated, gangbangers still bang

Police still fuck wit anybody that’s makin' change

Snitches still need a record deal cuz they still sang

You ain’t no woman, you a bitch to me

And a friend, still ain’t shit to me

Everytime I make a hundred thousand dollars, here they come

If I’m doing bad, they the ones I don’t here from

Y’all niggas ain’t real like Hawk and Screw

And since y’all ain’t them, y’all the ones I’m talkin' too

Y’all niggas ain’t shit, y’all pussies and some tits

But got the nerve to say that you a blood or a crip

First one to set trip, but the first one to run

Own six or seven guns, but you never shot one

I Pray towards the sun everyday before I’m done

When it rain on me it ain’t water, its money by the ton

I’m only one man with an Earth worth of foes

They hate me in the hood, in public and at my shows

If looks can kill I die when they ride by

But ask them why they hate me and they don’t know why

Send a playa through hell and back, then they sent me to prison

But check me out homie I’m free and I’m still livin'

So many women and men don’t want me to win

I got God, that’s why they bullets can’t break my skin

Roll foreign in the winter, American in the spring

Any other time a playa, stretch Hummer limousine

Whether you see me in person, or in a magazine

I keep bags of purple, ain’t no mo' bags of green

I’m white t-shirt, white 1's and blue jeans

The MVP and the only player on my team

The female scream cuz I’m the man of they dreams

I’m represented by my piece, chain, watch and my ring

Yea I’m on the radio, yea I’m on the television

But never sellin' my soul is the most important mission

No mo' whippin chickens up in the kitchen, nigga please

If I ain’t pimpin my bitches, then I must be over seas

I drop a lot of CD’s, that’s how I make cheese

So much ice in my mouth, my breath is a cool breeze

Pardon my rainbow, a playa just had to sneeze

My game tight 360 degrees

I ain’t a fresh prince, I’m a muthafuckin' king

This ain’t a pistol, this is a muthafuckin' machine

50 caliber brown, and this is something you never seen

Big enough to hit when it miss, and it don’t need a beam

I shake a lot of hands, walk across a lot of stages

My signature at the bottom of a lot of pages

Even without a diamond I still shine bright

And I hog the lime light, that’s because I rhyme tight

Kush keep my mind right, cuz I stress so bad

Sometimes I lose my temper and get so mad

But a voice say, «Ro, focus and get yo' cash»

You wanna know if I do that, you better bet yo' ass, BEOTCHH!!!