GQ - Rated Oakland (Jamla Is The Squad) [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse]
Shit, we still talkin’ bout old shit?
My daddy had the firebird, lookin’ at old pics
I’m off for school, hand on the wheel with a cold grip
Me and my nigga lookin’ for some hoes that roll quick and pole flip
I guess we on the road again
Receiving bullshit texts I’ll probly go and smoke again
Another night, and a life I’m tryna be important in
I can’t bottle these feelings need something to pour it in
Jump roping on the ledge of a building in roller blades
Even if I do slip it’ll take me a couple days
Cause on the way down I’m flipping off everybody that let me drop
I’m gon’ kill ‘em, videotape it and make em watch
Circle the block, 3:46 no time wasted
Before he shot communicated in sign language
I’m on a road I never been on
Ironically I know my way around so let me spin on professional
Up in a room I play a tune from my MacBook
Fuck a white glove I leave prints like bad crooks
I’m in a nightmare, me and [?] walk into a place I never been to
Everybody’ll get you
Pay a price and then leave like a movie you can’t sit through
Niggas can’t rap why the fuck they even attempt to?
Bodies of water can’t swim through, call Colombus
My phone broke I’m robbin’ banks lookin’ for numbers
Only working for summers, bitches with bad bodies
The car crash ain’t hurt, but shit the class got me
Where’s Rocky when Bullwinkle be bullshittin’?
I see demons on my timeline pull-pittin’
I told 9th I’m in full rhythm I told Phil I got this
So if you want a sub in the pool pimpin’
Rock-a-bye baby me and my lady be fly high
Twisted, we hippies in the sixties wearin’ tie-dye
Cut the parachute and tell em “skydive”
A angel outside of the gate waving at me every time I fly by
My first 48 k’s turn to a sci-fi
Another letter to open, that’s word to Cyhi, I mean that’s word to Ca$h
Verbalizing that high five what up to HU rockin’ umbrellas in the ma-tai
That’s bottom shit, somewhere probly hanging like bottom lips
On the top floor getting top from your bottom bitch
No second round, not even a bottom pick
Every pit that I fall in is bottomless
Tell me what your problem is?
When I die will my city throw a party as big as Christopher Wallace’s?
I need more than sixteen, feelin’ like Andre
Death threats was just a side, now for the entree
From treetopping to box to Bombay
Like how the fuck he go from Sean May to Kanye?
Oakland nigga