Перевод песни Clay Doe, Mr. 3-2, Mike D – Back Up

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You know what entice me, in this filthy world of balling
Fast cars stacks and thieves, with these bad bitches calling
And fucking these niggas, on the buddy-buddy plan
Pulling all scams cross the line, where it’s a hundred a gram
I got the world in my hand, that’s just one of my plans
Coming back with stacks of thousands, wrapped up in rubberbands
Nigga we keep blood money, thug homies and set up mami’s
Smuggling bundles in Hummee’s, keep you blood clot dummies
Don’t front me, or show me the stash bag
Cause when I’m starving out here, nigga I’m coming for that
So when I creep with the mack, you ballers won’t see the ball
Better be teflon to the drawas, bulletproof walls and all
Mean while, I’m ease off you niggas
'Fore I unload reload, calicoes my trigger nigga
How in the hell, is you gon fade a young Don
Knowing damn well, from dusk to dawn I get it on
They gon back the fuck up, (when we act the fuck up)
When these niggas talking shit, (on the wall they tacked up) — 2x
See Clay-Doe a wig splitter, (Corleone a go-getter)
Together we made niggas, (all about that six figgas) — 2x
Nobody move, nobody get hurt
Nigga cause I set it off, when the gun on squirt
Get my team see pay day, or expect beams from Clay-Day
When I squeeze off AK, click is screaming may-day
Four stars, Laf-Tex niggas killers is way off
Scratching off and basis, for maximum pay off
Take em off the shit list, or you’ll get yours
Be at your doors with 4−4's, spitting tips through your pores
Other words, better finish doing they chores
But this nigga you can figga up, the creep with no whores
And I know it’s a lot of you niggas, screaming fuck that nigga
And I forever tripping on my nuts, you can trust that nigga
And you jackers po' hustlas, keep the billers
Get the road burns and ledge earns, from the heater skills
Building my empire, bitch it’s murder for hire
Going out in gun fire, Clay-Doe the live wire
It’s gung-ho Mike D, paper getter Corleone
Clay-Doe the wig splitter, busting down millions
Now feel us (we killers), on some thugged out shit
When they act up (they back up), we reload the clip
Take trip from Cincinatti, (back down to Texas)
(use these hoes to stash yay), got fo' bags of 'rexes
Remote control pop spots, (in Yukons and Lexus)
(money so long we hauling), on the flat bed stretchers
They send they dogs to fetch us, (while we split down extras)
Surran-wrapped in bags caprice, and kayan pepper
Hit your spot dropping off, more blocks than Tetris
Fucking FED’s on our tale, (but they’ll never catch us)
We too slick with cash bags, fully loaded AR’s
Pull up on your set catch wreck, way down your boulevard
Till that heart stop pumping on his chest, because he dead
I made sure of that when I pulled up, put one in his head
They gon back the fuck up, (when we act the fuck up)
When these niggas talking shit, (on the wall they tacked up) — 2x