Перевод песни Timbaland & Magoo – People Like Myself
Работает на технологии Яндекс.Переводчика
People like myself, only hang with self cause thats the way to go I cant go outside without findin some new kinfolks People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go Its mag from your tv screen, buzzin off the jim beam But the mag yall think yall know aint what I seem Im a low-down freak from seapeak (?) See them high school mates, I see em and dont speak All yall wanna talk like we used to hang Cause Im doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame Thats why I stay out the club, be in the crib Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone And Im sellin cell phones, all with chips My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? You and your boys can bring the noise But ima bring hand grenades, now youre laid! Pull out my dick, piss on your bitch-ass Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans And haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan Uhh, uhh, uhh — since I got bigger (bigger) Im over here and yall recite tims my nigga (nigga) Like I just figure (figure) And my tracks didnt help niggaz So for rememdy I pound niggaz Like I keep em in djs for that new jigga Like them forty-two girbauds I pocket every demo, like timbaland — hes that next nigga Confirmed by people that she can blow Convinced booker t shes the next to go Now Im checkin every joint and every unit I sold Once Im deep in the dough, Im deep with a crew In the 80s yall screamed like the movie is through Yall screamin this is «nutty professor: part ii» To «eyes wide shut"to whoever I choose I can appreciate a kidman to a, tom cruise To a, fast food, Im strictly drive-through The money I gave dudes I basically raised fools Even the phone spit it, God know what Im thinkin Im drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession Down on my knees, beggin to god, show me the path My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me Sick of niggaz bitchin, wishin Id fail Tell em mag be the rap effin kenan and kel Im spittin the version of verses curses over the churches Rappin mo iller than thriller manila and give you salmonella Stop, the press! Bitch, you cant afford that dress, you cant afford that hairdo I dont want your sex, here take your fast food «tim youre dead wrong, tim youre dead rude!» Hey girl, I dont even know you «timbaland were your first cousin marion sue» My momma never ever mentioned you My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what?