Devine Carama - Soul Dreams (Nas Tribute) [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Devine Carama (Hook)
Soul dreams from a slave born a king, Fertilizing the soil in which we planted a seed/ young kids dream of being an MC, everybody looking for something...

Soul dream from a slave born a queen, single mama in night school getting a college degree/ Strips to pay her bills and take of her seeds, everybody looking for something...

(Verse 1)
The older gods put on the math, stronger than Moses' staff, I went from mental overdraft into folding cash/nothing on my mind but knowledge and wisdom and understand His plan, my options college or go to prison/ or throwing pitches, like baseball, or dope pitching that yay y'all, or a solider militant going AWOL/ my flow relentless, like Mike but I could go the distance, flows precision is right tighter than boa constriction/ hold the mic with soul and wisdom, control the light, by hold the prism to the right until I glow envision/ a bar pattern that God patten, actually a sharpened scalpel or gravity trying to spar with matter/ I need queen with a body badder than Paula Patton, in Greek mythology with the bars they probably call me Atlas/ got the world on my shoulders or maybe Paul Patton, just my state on my delts homie until shells blow me....

(Verse 2)
I'm more a less the one working while the Lord chills, on the sabbath erecting statues with a sword and shield/ Paying homage to past, presently the future, I survived the blood pouring on the battle fields/ I got dreams of conscious rap in the mainstream, where the queens get holla at, while the whores deal/ with lonely nights, and bone me plights by throne Stewart's, I can't stand a hood rat so a lay with a queen/I dream of fountains of Fiji Water that bring youth, a modern Malcom and Martin marching to bring truth/ angelic creatures with African features spitting verses, straight from heaven with a mic & they can sing too/ bunch of L-Boogies bringing me from where hell took me, and my spiritual is throwing up what the devil cooked me/Blood of a slave, soul of king, resurrected our fallen solders, in my soul when I dream....

(Verse 3)
These are the ancient doctrines that scholars honor and prophets written, strategically for Glock spitters with no pot to piss in/ I'm John The Baptist to these frauds rapping and cons for cash, I'm strong verbally merge Bob Lashley and Bob Backlund/ bars immaculate like that orange dragon on Avatar, like y'all wings chained or I'm just a crane amongst a flock of chickens/I'm an honest lyricist, nonfiction to you story tellers, you bore me embellish with tales of swelling on blocks and pitching/and see y'all fall for Chanel, ands her short skirt, you thinks it's all swell until you feel that hell and your cock itching/I need a conscious queen that's a left party radical, but when off the Bacardi throws it back just like a lateral/Takes sabbatical on the sabbath, just to attract fools, and once you captured she takes you back to Tabernacle/ plus she never mess with them cowards, and she understand God is the one that gave you that power...