Текст песни You Heard Of Us (Styles P) с переводом

Yeah! Streetsweepers! Aiyyo Kay Slay I’ve been wantin to say this right!

This is the remix! Yeah!

Yeah I know you heard of us, the murderous, most shady

D-Block, Ray J you better watch your lady

We pop bottles in the club on the daily

And I buss a nigga head if he ever try to play me

OWWWWWW! Lower the semi the engine is Henny

Playin Big Pun on my way from visitin Remy (Hold ya head ma!)

Yeah I need juice, sour diesel and dark shades

Liquor in my cup, doin 90 on the Palisades

Hammer on my waist, act stupid then it’s right in your face (Whattup!)

Sheek crazier than Max B losin his case (It's wavy baby!)

One DJ, two turntables, no replay

Women love your boy (Hello!) Sheek Cool J

Rookie on the block a veteran with a Glock

I ain’t Big or Pac Bully got his own lane

Yeah I’m with The LOX but Bully got his own brain

Two dancers with me like the homey Daddy Kane

I like D.O.A. but holla at me T-Pain

Yeah I’m big but my shooters the size of Lil' Wayne (Mini!)

Keep the fame, I take another zero on it

It ain’t unless the Ghost, Pinero’s on it

Dolla bills and good chron', hood don

Keys when the LOX there, fuck nigga pop (Pop off!)

Knockin Biggie in the new whip, roofless

Ain’t Cool J, but the play God witta pool stick

«In Too Deep», way too street

Talkin peace, save that shit for the Hindu’s beef

(C'mon, B!) My gun long, from the bed to where the window reach

(Leave that alone…) Talk to shit to D-Block

Nigga and end yo' speech, bitch!

EH-HEEEEEH! Yeah, yo…

They all hatin, even the ones gettin money

They all Satan and go both ways, they all datin (haha)

Shorty with the doobie in the car waitin (Hold on…)

You know the God, I’m M6 and the R8'n

'F' the world, in other words, screw the nation

My word play is excruciatin (pain)

These niggas is just hallucinatin, and keep tweekin

But I’m the trustee, so it’s job

The Street Sweeper, what!

I kill a snake in the grass I’m the mongoose

One phone call boy let the goons loose (BOOM!)

Then Kay got a hundred round verse

I need a hundred on the show I need 50 on a verse

Yeah! I got the riches

But a nigga need God in his life for them spiritual wishes

FUCK BITCHES! Look at what they did to McNair

These rappers lookin like a bunch of ants in a Leer

Everybody wanna be on

Every hooper in the hood wanna be the boy that dunked on LeBron

Like Jordan, Xavier, you can have that girl I ain’t savin her

I’m like Rakin nigga, I Move The Crowd

R.I.P. To Michael Jackson moonwalkin in clouds

Yeah the Full ten loud so forget that three eighty

D-Block and G-Unit we the most shady!

II Trill is in the building! Hide ya broad

And tuck ya chain, you lyin to lame, we goin hard!

(Goin hard!) We rollin deep and we known to put the pressure down

(Down!) You not built for this business, don’t make me test you clown

(Clown!) Pound for pound, I’m the best thang spittin

Stay throwed, stay hittin in the fresh outfit and

It’s hard to do it like me (me)

When my Jordans' don’t come out 'til Christmas

And my Nike’s is iD (D!)

Me a hater? Why be one? Please!

I tell you what, playa, slap a hater when you see one

(One!) The streets we run, I don’t mean joggin

Talkin 'bout break bread or get it in the noggin

We in the house like a recluse

And while you drinkin Gatorade, we sippin Trill O.G. Juice

Get it poppin from the get-go, slow it down

Like you out of petro 'fore them shooters let go

How you 'gon see me on a E-Dubb track?

Your album was a brick call it re-up rap

You don’t got no street knowledge you don’t build

Leg shooter claimin you so real

How you gonna shoot a nigga in his calf muscle you don’t kill

Your bullets go to the Cavs like Shaquille O’Neal

Gotta find ways that we all could eat

So we move that white girl like Dawson’s Creek

Rappers is unstable so they thoughts is weak

I’m stable like the places where the horses sleep

Yeah they got grams but they grams just ain’t right

My grams is like a hammerhead shark, great white

When I’m bangin at you homey I ain’t the leg type

I’ll head tap 'em like a bitch do when the braids tight

Think you hot cause they log on to your fake site?!

I wanna see if they can log on to your grave site

Uh, Prada good in 80s', new Mercedes, few ladies

New York City’s baby, got the projects goin crazy

Pay me everything up front, we got the pumper money happy

Look at me, my earrings POP like Pappy

Get at me! I’m chromey, make it shake all by my lonely

I done bust so many bottles, now the wattress want boney

Trick on me, her miss cologne me, her favorite homey

I’m stoney, she’ll David Blow-me as I get cozy

Play the corner like posey, frozey, with a u-zi

Hennessy and Rosie, can’t a single woman hold me

Guns don’t stop bullets, so err’body packin

One boy, you ain’t strapped, you done, won’t be long 'fore the casket come

There’s ya mourning God, hood hero, fallen star

Local broad, fallin car, Chronic out the jar

To my table of the bar, model stay but I’m star

Livin God, bar for bar, haters stop me, naw!

Yeah I know you heard of us, the murderous, most shady

D-Block, Ray J you better watch your lady

We pop bottles in the club on the daily

And I buss a nigga head if he ever try to play me