Chino XL - Closer to God [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1]
Dear rap game, you're so whack, we feel like suing you
Niggas dressed up, nowhere to go like atheists at they funerals
My revolution's beyond musical, my violence on auto-pilot
I can’t be morally neutral or silent to the truth you coward (nah)
I fire out of control
Much different than the human resources department at your job letting you go
The V for vendetta vet, showing your fickle fans that
You're garbage in every category and in categories that ain't even invented yet
(Yeah) I'm feeling wild lately
I don't know how to die, kill you, you can educate me
I'm back when the game is horrible
I stepped right out of Stan Lee's imagination, Chino is a living Marvel
I smoke stems with niggas that's sinning, won't bend
Leave you between a rock and a hard place like Stonehenge
I can count on one hand rappers I'm greater than, but wait a minute
Only if there's a calculator in it, the number's so infinite (it's crazy)
I spit it, authentic, arsenic, acidic
So commited I should be commited, I'm tired of being counterfeited
The Lyric Jesus never smile
Keep it super ugly like a Forest Whitaker and Whoopi Goldberg love child
Outrageous, cops racist, frown and smile tazers
My eyes burning from the salt with the tears of a thousand angels
I wanna topple the nation crazed in the Fist of Fury
I spit it ice cold, no refrigeration necessary

[Hook]
Every rhyme I write, gettin' closer to God
Every rhyme I write, gettin' closer to God
Drop an ill verse, verbal assault
Lyrical, genius
Every rhyme I write, gettin' closer to God
Every rhyme I write, closer to God
Every rhyme I write, gettin' closer to God

[Verse 2]
Yeah, yeah, it’s time to melt down your debit card
Welcome to my demented mind, blood is the cover charge (yeah)
Fuck around I will destroy thee
Retarded like a lot of movie theatre employees
Murder everything, end of discussion
Gained attention like an Amber Rose wardrobe malfunction (yeah)
Video ass-whippings, your homie’s like “You seen this?"
His snotbox busted, I don’t mean containers of Kleenex (get ‘em)
You wish you weren’t involved with the horror
I pull the revolver tomorrow, your people holding candlelight vigils for ya
Gorilla suplex a nigga off of a tall building
Stab him in his face at the bottom, make sure I’ve killed him (die!)
Hold fire like Prometheus, diction deviant
My flow the freakiest like the daughters of Southern white racist preachers is
The beast’ll smash in the speakers to pieces
When I spit a sequence elitist-ly fiendish you’ve never experienced previous
See me breed a phoenix that could bleed a phoenix to the deepest
Reaches where your feet is 'til you’re in dire need of orthopedics (crazy!)
The cast of The First 48 is askin questions
It’ll take three episodes for them to find your severed midsection
They never seen such savagery, my angry energy
Have nucular reactors look like triple-A batteries
No experiment, my pen’s a hero to heroines
Sick like Reese Witherspoon with a spoon cooking up some heroin
I sin but I’m trying to escape this base bondage
I’m garbage, breathing, burning lakes of lava and carnage
Hip-Hop’s in crisis but my veins contain Christ nitrous
So precise it says Lyric Jesus on my driver’s license

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
I often, beat a crippled man with his own cane
Far from, close to being emotionally sane
Caution, sick criminals lurk in the terrain
Gotham, I have the most abnormal tolerance to pain
Monster, Chino XL but they call me Santo Sangre
Here’s some trivia, my derivative lineage is straight
From the Virgin Mary, scary when the muzzle flash
Flash tear through your abs like fake Chinatown Gucci bags (okay)
I got a terrible cerebral verbal virus
Neuroleptic narcotics, my hand’s so shaky I can barely write this
Light this, angel dust got me loopy (got me loopy)
All after Thought like a Roots groupie (Roots groupie)
You bet your life that what I write is mega-trife
And better than getting head from your hated archenemy’s pregnant wife
I constantly conquer the conquerors with cocky confidence
Chino the ominous will mollywop the populous (yeah!)
Where them guns you supposedly holding and toting?
I’m placing coins over both of your eyes for the devil’s totem
Bullets discharge and get lodged to your chest like a corsage
While I’m hitting your squad with a force of Thor, that’s the Norse god
Flesh wounds color like a collage, witness your corpse fried
You hear more cries than when the lead singer of The Doors died (crazy!)
RICANstruction stomping like Sasquatch
‘Til my heart stops pumping like Dick Clark’s

[Hook]