Re-Up Gang - Re-Up Intro [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Pusha-T:]
Yughk! Young obnoxious, hand on our crotches
Swagger outta this world call us the Diddy boppers
Fuck the shit out ya girl, let the city watch us
Hit her with the dougie like Cam'ron —
Move bitch, move bitch, throw that shit, my jam's on
White Lambo; hear them fans blow!
Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo
So niggerish, they flows frivolous
Tickle us pink like white girl clitoris
Fucking the game up, Re-Up
Them niggas deceive ya, we get 'em for 13 fever
We don't believe ya
My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am zebra
Fucker! Neither, you nor ya man's my caliber
I challenge ya, the cocaine balancer
We hear you from afar, I'm silencer, Neighborhood P

[Sandman:]
Dig it — I'm in a rage like Cujo
Y'all wanna wrestle, play sumo
Merk yer bitch ass on my uno
You know — shots from the two blow
Flush all other nigga faces
We take other niggas' places, 'cuse us!
No excuses, lame like Confucius!
Don't confuse us, we really do this!
Re-Up's ruthless, ain't much to prove this!
Two clips, not Pusha and Mal
The two holding the rounds
The click-clack and the pow, pussy!
Talk foul, get slapped in ya mouth, pussy!
When I'm around, take it back out of the house, pussy!
And I'm flossing too, big charm wit a igloo, R & S blue
Sky like, I'm high like, giraffe ass
Crack hash, Re-Up, what y'all mad at?

[Malice:]
This ain't nothing but candy from a baby;
I sell that shit! Got 'em stuck since the '80s
Y'all ain't even thinking about sticking to format;
Y'all niggas telling, "oo-oo"ing like Horshack
Singing with the band, with snares and hi-hats
And it ain't slow us, no we kept hunting for more crack!
We ain't holla back, nigga we holla Black!
Card Era, second coming taking ya back
And it's a known fact y'all tired of the circus
So come home where you smell the crack in the verses!
The whole rap world watched the Clipse take a bow
We left it in ya hands, you ain't make Father proud!
None of y'all can copy—a hard act to follow
We was cursed with the spirit of verses, the stigmata!
Suicide bomb ya, like Mohamed Atta
Or the doors on that Phantom, Re-Up, we rap martyrs what?

[Ab-Liva:]
Black Card Exclusive, member of the secret society:
It's not just music that I barter with
Tape tight on the soft ya chef to get harder with
Art of it, mastered the flame that they solder with
Young'un you could learn — Liva Coach Carter it!
I was a part of it, loiter in the wool
Ritz thirty paces from work, I thirty grand, two shirts
"Chez a Re-Va jeux tee" scribbled in the wool stitch
Three quarter blazer;
Sharp like a single edge razor on them gemstars
Breaking that beige up
Now I'm an arm left of the best as we conquest
The rest of the rap game, you listen in vain nigga
Got lil' bad bitches Emilio Pucci;
Sitting on blades like Christie Yamaguchi
In the SL two-seat; six-inch heels by Gucci;
When a player land ma scoop me
No luggage I shopped in, California sun on my skin
As the rocks blind traffic that I'm in
I'm Magic with pen; I'm Jordan in the booth;
I'm 'Melo with the flow; Lebron I'm the truth