The Coup - Piss On Your Grave [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Hook]
Uhhhh!!
I wanna piss on your grave!
Make me feel alright!
Yaa Yaa Yaa!!

Uhhhh!!
I wanna piss on your grave!
And it feels alright!
Yaa Yaa Yaa!!

[Verse 1 - Boots Riley]
While you was eating T-bone steaks in palatial estates
Ornate with gates that automate
So those you hate could only spectate
I was kissing my mate through iron grates while the guards wait
50 cent rate for making license plates
My Paper Mate pen shake
Vibrate from 808 quakes over breaks dug outta crates
That sag from weight of the vinyl plates
Girls work till they back ache
And they breasts can't lactate
You're laughing to the bank
Smiling, showing all your plaque flakes
Contesting, contesting 1,2,3
Never shoulda been put in the penitentiary
Boots from The Coup would like to say
I'll shove these food stamps down your throat
Just to block your airway
And that's the fair way cause every day you're on a moolah mission
Military killing millions til you're low on ammunition
Bodies beyond recognition, twist in complex positions
Then their kids work in your factories and die of malnutrition
See, your net profit stats hold some murderous facts
But if you listen to the news you mighta heard it was blacks
You got us herded in shacks
I got the pertinent tax
How 'bout the one for when I bust my ass and you relax
I'll hit your head with an axe, play soccer with your brain
To make it official, slice your jugular vein
Still writing songs that my momma could sang
And if you feel some yellow drips on your skull, it ain't rain

[Hook]

[Verse 2]
That bitch ass on the front of a buck never gave a fuck
He forced his black women slaves to give him dick sucks
And when he'd bust a nut, he'd laugh and cackle
Let the leather whip crackle, send 'em back to pick tobacco shackled
Wouldn't give 'em nil, so his homies stacked bills
Fought on flat lands and hills to keep the British out the till
Scrill kept Washington dumping em in ditches
So slave owning son of a bitches could keep their riches
Which is how the war got funded with two centuries of juice
Of black slaves bodies and the profits they produced
You could deduce that these men might win
Fit right in, and make rights then
Just for rich white men
So they quit fighting and wrote up a declaration
Protective decoration for they business operations
A gorilla pimping nation -- no freedom, just savage
The whole world's ravaged from their hunger for the cabbage
Your fifth period history teacher
Telling lies like a tweaker
Bump this song through the speaker, watch they face get weaker
'less they righteous and they kicking the facts
They gon' smile cause this shit is on wax
One thing I gots to ask:
George Washington, down in hell can you see me?
I'm standing on your grave and I'm finsta take a pee-pee!

[Interlude]
Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee?
Boots: No, I said, "I love it here in D.C"
Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour
We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary
Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the Afro is standing
Is the grave of of America's first and greatest hero, our first President --
[Sound of pants unzipping]
George Washingt..
[Sound of pissing]
Ohh, uh-uhhhh
[Cameras click]

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Knock knock motherfucker, yes once again
I'll make you pay for your sins in the trunk of your Benz
See, you's an always fitted, always acquitted parasitic leech
Can't be burned off my back with no fiery speech
Your hands is soft as a peach cause you ain't never did work
Been rich ever since your daddy's dick went squirt
Have you ever hurt from your back?
Ducked from rat-a-tat-tats?
Seen your mama on crack? Lived in a Pontiac?
Drank baby Similac so you could have protein
Just for enough energy to hustle up some mo' green?
I could paint some mo' scenes, verging on the obscene
But I'd rather show up at your palace with a mob scene
I spoke to my accountant, who spoke to my attorney
Who counseled my financial advisor on a gurney
It's about fifty dollars, and that's almost like a sale
Cause it costs too damn much to let your rich ass inhale
True liberation ain't no word in the head
I'm yelling, "Murder 'em dead!" for some fish, steak, and bread
You pay me 10 g's a year, I pay you fifteen million hundred?!
Sorry, you just ain't in the budget
Look at the birdie, now..

[Hook]