Deacon the Villain & Sheisty Khrist - Final Call [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Hook [Deacon]

Call of the night
Call of the industry
Carry us all away X 2

[Verse 1: Sheisty Khrist]

This nigga asked me was I rap's savior
I gave him some dap told him perhaps later
Rap was built on the backs our black labor
That's why I attack like a trapped gator
I'm the black Ralph Nader
The Alpha and the Beta more powerful than haters, you feel me?
They tapped my phone and scoured through the data
And cowered when I said I was an hour from Decatur
They thought I said I was the power of al Qaeda
And that me and bin Laden were in Saudi Arabia
This the return of Ramesses
In a tam on a sham from the ram species
From 3000 B.C
Listening to mp3's of three lectures by the man Nietzsche
Just me by myself in an Inipi
Pondering the oil wealth of BP
Listen I often think about the Motherland, but quickly snap back like a rubber band
And no offense to my brother man
But brother how in the fuck can you be a black Republican?
Nah I know they say it's the party of Lincoln
I drove a Lincoln to a party then I started drinking
And after each Bacardi drink I think I started sinking
Until my eyes were no longer blinking, nigga
My nigga Natti say "Bright Lights, Big City,"
Got me looking for a white dyke with big titties
Instead a mannequin lifelike, surreal, bitty
Interrupted by a knife fight real gritty
The night life is still shitty
Where only the night lights could make a knife fight feel pretty. A pity

Instrumental break [Willie Eames lead]

[Verse 2: Deacon The Villain]

This man asked me if I was rap's slayer
I chucked him the deuce, told him perhaps greater
Rap was built over wax and a black fader
Now it's black like the hearts of its plaque makers
Ask those scaling raps himilaya
About distress signals sent wrapped in a prayer
They had their humble eyes sat upon vega
But to stay they gotta live inside our laps like a geisha
Where's Lauryn Hill, where's Hendrix
Where's Thelonious Monk, where's trendless
Muddy Waters and a dirty telecaster
This the new age, slaves ain't gotta sell masters
A master's all about what sells faster
They don't care if rap walks inside hell backwards
Bend the rules, keep the power and gold crowns
We gon' to shout round these walls till they go down

[Outro: Bianca Spriggs]

Drink to the unmarked graves of discarded lyrics buried in forgotten notebooks
Drink to the unanswered prayers of one-hit-wonder beats
Drink to rock star dreams
To cogs caught in the metropolis machine
To those who'd spill blood for a mic, we drink
To those who'd stand out by sitting down at the keys, we drink
Drink to sixteen bars, a killer hook and a slant rhyme scheme
To staying up through silver lined nights
Chasing down a north star pulse
To being the master of our own signal flares
Our own talking drums
We drink to tomorrow
Always
To tomorrow