Don Cook - Art of the Beat [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1]
I can understand from looking out from the side
That I can come off little goofy when I shout in the mic
But otherwise, it's recreation, nothing more than a guy
That's hating ways of self-behaving, lately, maybe it's the time
To give 'em all a little taste of patience, "Hey, it's a song!"
Well wait until the day that comes along that everyone's wrong
Cause I've been chasing it away, the stage is basically gone
You paved the way, so why you hating on caucasian so far?
It never used to be an issue on the football field
Or shootin' hoops, up at the school and askin' 'who's all here?"
You let me drift with the crowd and I was happy as shit
Cause I had never fit in situations, tacky as this
And every time I sat in math again, I'd chat with the chicks
And who'da thought I coulda' done with the class that I did?
But then again, I have regrets about my stint as a clown
Cause I annoyed the living hell up outta kids that surrounded me, now

[Hook]
What you wanna see from a kid like me?
Who never grew up on the streets up in the NYC
But literally, when I speak, I wanna make it in the world
And ain't no living way or day that I'mma waste it on a girl
Now understand I never, ever, ever wanted to see
Me go and turn it into something, make me wander so deep
To see the key of the tone, I wonder how I'm gonna be?
Defeated, come along to thinkin' bout the art of the beat, and so..

[Verse 2]
I'ma keep it runnin' till I empty the tank
I put my foot on the gas, and then I'll rip out the brake
Cause when I crash I wanna take it, I'll be able to say
That I had faced the game the way that I'mma later today
And hey, I paint you a visual, thru the waves of a digital
Hate the individual, - pay attention in intervals
I'mma say with a purpose, my words'll do me a service
Furnish my nerves and earnestly, my urges emergin' free
Yeah, and lay my eyes on the prize
And watch as I defy the lies that all the biters provide
Idolize the middle-class, with divisional status
I'm an inch away from being labeled miserably-average
Outta' Texas with a record of sorts
Record stores play me second to the regular sport
Off the charts is what I tell my f'n measuring board
My leverage is the door to the dreaded devil of war

[Hook]