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?