Juke - Runnin' [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Hook]
Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle
Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle, what
Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle
Runnin through the jungle, running through the jungle, what

[Verse 1: Juke]
My phat raps got me packing stacks like IHOP
Fans come through and check it every time that I drop
It's not Drake or Wayne, I'm not Hov or Ye
But I can still drop a beat like every single day
And in new ways making people step back and listen like double takes
My fine style makes you think twice like mistakes
This that type of shit that makes all the foes hate
Like when you're at the finish and the rest are on the preface
My words sophisticate, your brain can't take, so you just hate
Never knowing where you're going, the fact that I'm still flowing
Has your mind so hot I'm blowing and you know that I'm just showing off
Now let's take a second to stop and look at all my guap
It's almost too obvious but you still deny the fact I'm hot
Even though I'm pretty sure everyone knows that I rock

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Juke]
My rhyme style has my foes in a prison
Leaving the competition sitting in San Quentin
Their mind becomes a prism of thinking I can be beaten
I'm sorry but it was written way before humans even
Roamed the earth, marking our turf
Making it clear that we were here and not going anywhere
Let's be fair, survival of the fittest was only made to pit us
Against one another, turning on our brothers
Now that's not what we're about
We gotta stick together for worse, or for the better
People will be around forever, well, depending on the weather
Just ask Mr. Gore, he seems to know for sure
Where we're all headed, he says the world is melting
But you didn't believe him, now you see what we're knee deep in
Can you feel it as it's heating, nah, you're just too busy eating
Eating out of styrofoam, yeah, we're too far gone

[Hook]

[Break]

[Verse 3: Juke]
Guns go blao blao, how you like my style now
Your ears get raped by lyrical sounds, and I've found
A new therapeutical outlet to get out this
Any time I get pissed I just write a list
Then the pen hits a pad like a lyrical fist
And believe me, when I'm done your stomachs gonna be empty
Like bulimics, you haven't seen this
You can't screen this
I can't be censored like there's a fence up
I'm never gonna stall
And I've always given my all
Since I was standing in the halls
And scrawling my words on the middle schools walls, and tables
It helped to keep my mind stable, Bitches saying it's a fable
But that's just another label, not like the type to give you a deal
The type, the type that makes you feel, hurt

[Hook]