Bronze Nazareth - Gomorrah [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Intro: Bronze Nazareth]
(Where we at where we at?)
Yeah uh huh Sodom and Gomorrah
Bronze man where we at?
313 school for the blindman nigga
Gun rule the alma mater
Straight off the great migration (Where we at where we at?)
Detroit the new school, 313 stand up
(Where we at where we at?) School for the blindman
(Where we at where we at?) I got you!
I'm Back! (Where we at where we at?)
Whut up doe? Get ya book ready!

[Hook: Bronze Nazareth]
We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah
And at the bottom of the soil
In the deepest of the hole
Where the leaches won’t crawl
And the people want oil, lies Detroit
We living in Sodom and Gomorrah
Where scars from the cotton left God’s fruit rotten
And maybe God forgot ‘em
So where does he go if his soul left this body from…. Detroit!

[Bronze Nazareth]
So maybe God forgot him?
Like white man forgot cotton built a nation
But it’s no jobs for him
So my mind went exploring on diesel trips
Sidewalks littered with eagle clips
Witness flowers on poles
Models on poles with evil hips
T shirts adorned with the face of he who slipped
Got cousins down south I first hand seen the shit
From off the hip the preist release doves from his grip
They love us for our teams but fuck a statistic
If he ain't make it or slip it’s onto the next script
Focus and lift immense weight just to make it
In dire straights
Who’s to say MITT ROMNEY wouldn’t bake it and cut it
My God it’s ugly (but)
But you don’t throw the mirror out
You don’t throw the infant and the aquafina out
Document this let’s take the scenic route

[Hook: Bronze Nazareth]
We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah
And at the bottom of the soil
In the deepest of the hole
Where the leaches won’t crawl
And the people want oil
[Killah Priest] From Brooklyn!!!
We living in Sodom and Gomorrah
Where scars from the cotton left God’s fruit rotten
And maybe God forgot ‘em
So where does he go if his soul left this body
[Killah Priest] From Brooklyn!!!

[Killah Priest]
Brooklyn The A train the J train
Run through my body like veins
Bear arms with dope fiend tracks
Look back there’s crack
There’s strapped hustlers
Customers scat, bust blood on the halls
Brothers in malls we love ‘em names colored in walls
Street fame, niggas from Gates ave
Mark was a great man, put his face in the stained glass
Just like a saint passed
Gun shots so loud you would think that a tank blast
Cops crowd around a young man on the train stabbed
So here’s a frame or rope chain
For cats in the dope game
No love for the no lames
Or Gs off the coke lane
So tote, run for Nostrand
Hoodlums from off of Putnam
Bushwick is flooded with muslim
And this is Brooklyn
Queens the Islands of central bookings

[Hook: Bronze Nazareth]
We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah
And at the bottom of the soil
In the deepest of the hole
Where the leaches won’t crawl
And the people want oil, lies….. Gun Rule!
We living in Sodom and Gomorrah
Where scars from the cotton left God’s fruit rotten
And maybe God forgot ‘em
So where does he go if his soul left this body from…. Gun Rule!

[Bronze Nazareth]
Gun Rule, where gutted buildings is screaming out
Crack fiends walk but their souls is beaten out
Clouds is bleeding down
Rain hail sleet shells
Swat teams across the street I hear em yell!
Schools missing books k-12
Granholm or grams, which one’ll help me excel?
Stop the mistreatment in this sweltering hell!
Big city of ruins
Pot holes and caught souls all in your viewin
Block roads, my people who accepted my union
Still I lock and load while I’m protecting my movement
But they got us cold hearted flipping weight to survive
My building’s like a matrix inside
Rats crackheads and alley flies
Broken streets – a moses divide
Well mama ain't push him so he had to throw knives
Got a pit bull in cold nights
Roll dice in old piss
Blow weed sticks smoke kiss my magnum opus
Next to hope and open tombs of asbestos
Structure their best chance right out a bible lesson
The roofs caving, shots hit like aaron maybin
At night it’s nightmares, our mayor? Wes Craven
It makes a nigga heinous, makes a nigga aim the flamers
A Child of a lesser God whose Pain’s famous
So we shoot and oil our guns with grease from chicken coop
Mad ave’s stressed out streets, the cops is troops!
Vacation get ya probation in Gun Rule!!!