Passalacqua - "Banglatown" [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[mister]

Yo i'm here to say peace to all my people
And any other people
Refusing to talk to me but they spying through their peepholes
2015 -- time to stop being sheepish
And green, drop ego
Finish with the frog splash, Rob Van or D'Lo
Parted with Supino
Now, grinning like Amicci w/ the Burnside amigos
Amigas, etc, reveling in the storm
My brother, this kettle's just getting warm
This is Banglatown

[blaksmith]

These streets is irregular
They read like novellas
Come to our shows
Say what's up
Or email us
Ain't no need to be jealous
Just a couple o' rap guys
On the porch
With a couple o' laptops
Playing with satire
Planting the seeds
Drinking a brew
While catching a breeze
'cept when it's zero degrees
We hibernating
On the island
Klinger sliding
Not enough parking spots to go around
In Banglatown

[mister]

Third french press, reading some Lefsetz
Eating cheese pierogi and falafel in excess
Flight House suite, sneak peeking their best yet
Never no fresh breath
Dinner to breakfast
Puffy bread and garlic sauce be the new chex mix
No discussion, nor a need to protest this
Still blessed with that Big Money Candle lit
Shining on this wood paneling
In Banglatown

[blaksmith]

Drinking the carrot juice
Discarding the carrot tops
Ignoring the stop lights
But reading the tarot cards
Figure there's better odds
To make it home faster
Paradox
New Dodge
Reggaeton master
Jukebox blaster
Fat belly dancers
Eating fish and crabs
Pisces, cancers
IPhone cameras
Capture the arrest
The high Benghali standard
Capture all the rest
In Banglatown

[mister]

Yeah the winters are rough
But shit, summers in the city are scrumptious
Keep it third wave for my bubbly sunchips
And drink Two Hearted cause it's what we do here
Work hard play hard
Keep it moving
Preach, no pulpit
Speak no bullshit
Sumthink Detroit
Sumthink Detroit
Yeah i repeated it
Peep the Rap Genius
Banglatown

[blaksmith]

Log cabin houses
With a painted clock
If they breaking through the back door
Change the locks
A knucklehead I'll let you be
Fool me once, shame on me
Fool me twice, that ain't right
That's a stolen SUV
Where they chop in the backyard
And grow in the hoop house
Trimming the tall weeds
Throwing the fruit out
Guess it's all bad
'cuz it's one with the mold
I'm dusting it off
My humble abode
In Banglatown