The B.U.M.s - Can You Do Without? [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Sugarhill Gang sample]
"Hip-Hop, a hip-py, a hip hop
A hip hop, you don't stop"

[Verse 1, E-Vocalist]
I like my beats rugged, like the forty swung by Sigourney
And when it comes to freaking flows, ooh me so horny
I just got out of rehab for smoking microphones
Now I'm shocking niggas over tracks like, REMOTE!
On and on and on and to the break of day is morning
No sorrow, cause you're made like Shirley Murdock
And forgot about tomorrow as you lay
On the skills of the microphone terror
And if all respect not fame cause my name ain't Ivan Keller[???]
So step, and like a battered wife, you'll catch a beating
I'll make you scream like The Beatles with more juice than Michael Keaton
Yo kid, I don't play
Chill before I have you singing "Oh-La, Oh-La, Ey"
When it comes to getting loose, these minkies want it by the barrel
So play me like Robert, you know I make mucho de nero
But when the question's raised, I'm not fazed
Still the odds of me catching wreck is like the odds
Of homosexuals catching AIDs
So if you got the nerve to flip words
And you think that you can hang, man
I don't care how get here
Just get here if you can
E-Vocalist is the man to turn it out
If there wasn't hip-hop, tell me, could you do without?

[Sugarhill Gang sample]
"Hip-Hop, a hip-py, a hip hop
A hip hop, you don't stop"
[x2]

[Verse 2, D'Wyze]
Knock! Who is it? The microphone wizard
Flipping shit like a blizzard so now you know who is it
Who am I? The silly, slow-maxing in my hoody
I serve MCs and leave itches as if my name was Woody
Hard-son, then scrap up on my nuts like scabies
Crab ass MCs you get the quail cause you're dead, G
I sit alone, waiting for my crew to get me
I blaze a few blunts because tonight I'm hunting rappers
G, Bad-Ass, Brothas Under strap me before we bug out
Yo! Let's get the Latin soul bro and who's got clout
I'm here to kick your freeze at this blow up[???]
I'm so ill on the mic I had a fucking crowd throwing up
Dangerous, word, use exag everyday
I point my peeps at the neighborhood priest, yo nigga pray!
Damn! E-Vo, my mellow my man (wassup nuccaaaa?)
Get on the mic and do what you can

[Verse 3, E-Vocalist]
I beg your pardon, but my name ain't Dolly
Suckas ride on my nuts like the San Francisco trolley
Come to my house and I slam like Mutombo
As I swing up on your intellect like George of the Jungle
My name ain't weed, I don't tumble, I never stumble
I walk, open cans[???], I stay humble, I never mumble
I rap in doses, and make you jump 'til you put a crook in your back
My multi-flow's corrosive
I put more heads to bed than Sudafed
So make like a crack head, and fill the base
I'm raising hell like Pimpface
"We want the man who did this"[vocal sample]
Call me hemorrhoid and watch me flare up in that ass
I got more skills than a special education class
I'm bulimic, throwing up rhymes like vomit
(Buh-Blaaaaaaah!) I return like Halley's Comet
Call me aluminum because you know I can
Get down like the syndrome, and handy like the man
You can't hurt me, anymore
I break down crews like an enzyme
So don't flash, just make like Rolex and know the time
E-Vocalist is the man to turn it out
But if there wasn't hip-hop, could you do without?

[Sugarhill Gang sample]
"Hip-Hop, a hip-py, a hip hop
A hip hop, you don't stop"
[x4, fading out]