Fiyablasta - Work it Out Pt. 2 [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Chorus:
I work it out, work it out on the microphone
And work it out, work it out on the dance floor
(repeat)

Verse 1:
Yea, buddy, these bars I'm lifting are hard
For many, my lyricism in repitition has got me living large
Like an MMA champ of hip hop
Mixed Musical Artistries to "Jump" beats like Kriss Kross
But when I'm on the floor, I'm the one jumping
Give me my room and some bass that's bumping
I just wanna move, why you brothers just slumping?
Baby, just Nae Nae and I'll whip out the stunting
Like I do with the mic in hand
Rhythms get them switching feelings when I'm writing jams
That power, that privilege I work like my mistress
That crowd's in submission; I Ebeneezer Scrooge it
But in the crowd, I lose it and let the music
Move it; my body to the proven ground
To get down to the drums that pound
For who gets the crown. So better work it out right now

Chorus

Verse 2:
Whoo! So let me feel that beat
Can't hug the wall, I got to move my feet
Yeah! Come join the fun
Ain't even got to wait to get some groin to buns
Whoo! "Everybody Move" like Tech said to make the "Hood Go Crazy"
We got the DJ playing jams; 2000's, 90's, 80's
So what's your song of choice? "Rock Your Body" or "Bring the Noise"?
Regardless, I'm dancing til my clothes get moist
Got towels? Wipe me down. Get Wild! Wipe me down
I'm on-on the ground. Break-break-breaking down
Just call me Turbo; I'm looking for my Special K
Or "Searching for the Perfect Beat"; Bambaataa would be proud of me
This sole sonic force won't let me stand still
It pounds so heavy just like an anvil
So try to burn me on the floor, it's on
(We just got served, team. Voltron!)

Chorus

Verse 3:
When we hit them up in they town
They be feeling us and our sound
Then we hit the club and it's bound
To bang our stuff out loud
Cause it's bout to go down
When the mic's in my trigger finger I'ma spit rounds
Been waiting patient for me to move the crowd
Well I'm glad to mention, I got your submission; listen to the speed of sound
Blazing like a trailing Delorean, pouring in lyrics from the valedictorian
Orating punches to leave them slumping in bunches like the oats of the honey for the boatloads of money
Talking shmoney dancing on a Lonely Island "Like a Boss" while hostiles try to off me probably cause they aren't me
Jealousy running deep cause I have their ladies weak when I speak and she in the DM's trying to creep
Call her that TLC; she crazy, sexy, cool, yo
Call that that DLC; my game is flexing tunes so
Whether in the disco or on the microphone
I work it out on the flo'