Kashmire - The Man Under The Sun [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Intro]

[Verse 1]

Listen, this man is 20 years old
Still livin at home, all he does is smokes and gets stoned
His mother doesn't condone the lifestyle that he chose
But he does it anyway, blowing lines up his nose
Yet he's nice with the flows, its the only thing he's got
Dropped out of high school but his brain didn't rot
With the skills the mans got, he deserves a shot
But he'd rather blow his money on some liquor or the pot
See hes not, doing what he could or what he should
Hes gotta step in the booth and prove that he is good
I seen it, he treats the studio as if its wood
Lighting up the mic leaving a flame trail where he stood
He spits fire, all he wants to do is get higher
He stopped going to the studio, money was required
Its a shame, downers and alcohol was desired
Just from getting heart broken from a hoe that he admired, Damn

[Hook]

[Verse 2]

Sometimes i wonder if he even wants to do it
Starts a mix tape and half way he says screw it
I tried to tell him, look son you gotta go pursue it
Your skills is like your penis i mean it you gotta use it
You know what i'm saying? make em know where you staying
Your from the burbs of Jerz and everybody get murked
When you get on the microphone, put em in the dirt
He nodded his head and said aloud "lets go to work"
So i, got him to the studio its time to run your mouth
Get in the booth burn it up go head send it south
Bring it to hell, have AC/DC ringing them bells
He stopped mid verse came out saying "i'm feeling compelled"
Dead silence, i asked the man what about?
He looked at everybody shook their hands and said "i'm out"
I think its time i confront the dude, tell him to stop it
There's no way that he can survive with empty pockets

[Hook]

[Verse 3]

Yeah, he don't know what i got in store
Went to his crib cause my phone calls he ignored
Walked up the steps to the porch, opened the door
Four bottles, dutch guts, and cut straws surround the floor
Whats this for? i grabbed him by his collar
Threw up against the wall then i started to holla
You stupid fuck get on your grind, people will folla
Your not a scholar your a drop out, you wanna make a dolla?
Sit and write these rhymes, sit and fight these times
You got a talent to be heard son your not a mime
"But i'm white" he said, mother fucker that's fine
I don't care if your red, blue, or the color of a lime
You spit tight, do you really want this fist fight?
Over me trying to help you out so you can live right
There's no one this type, you gotta go and get your shit right
So sit write, and slice up these beats no need for Swiss knifes
Come on

[Outro]