The Beatnuts - 2-3 Break [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Psycho Les]
People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor
Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter
Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple
We get caught, it's strictly mental
A stone crook, I don't go by the book
You can't fool me with your gangster look
I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay
When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out
And don't try talking bold
Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall"
What? You punk, who's gonna defend you
When I bumrush your ass and stick an icepick in you
Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick
Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's)
The bed slammer can stick a ho
With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again

(2, 3, Break!)

[Verse 2: Fashion]
I got so much of this style coming from my lips while
Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles
Bang, I got my own thang, gang ain't it proper
Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper
Let 'em fucking know who's Kool where I'm coming from
Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em
Bagging 'em, plus I hit their hoes in the mean
Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green
Seen crazy niggas get lost in the shuffle
With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble
Ta-dow, now, that's how it's falling
Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherfucking balling
Hanging with my crew on the Peakskill plain
I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick
Trick, you know my style, no it ain't no use
Cause I can keep your ho wet like a fucking douche

(2, 3, Break!)

[Verse 3: JuJu]
Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner
My rhymes will make niggas collapse into a coma
Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission
Deadly with intent to shell the opposition
Fucking with this flow, come on, yo that's treason
Niggas fuck around and get shot for no reason
Junkyard nigga, represent every time
Corona's in the house and yo Gab!

[Gab]
(Off the Richter Scale)
My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war
Come forth, I bust my fronts with your spinal chord
Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside
Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide
But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault
Cause I assault niggas who couldn't launch shit with catapaults
So if you ever hear the name Gab One
Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun