Vakill - Sweetest Way to Die [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse I: Vakill]

The summer was 1987
I was king of graff
Wild hundreds
119th to ave
I had the south locked cleverly
I was stocked heavily
Shoe polish, whiteline
Hello my name is thick as my game
Slicker
Didn't need a black book
I could lay out a piece off of memory
Half hour flat like it was ten to me
And still have time to flip my enemies names
Upside down
If you was toy then that was penalty
From petty tags to full blown color crescendos
Blackbooks to scratch bombin' the bus window
I was addicted
But every time I'd stopped those flames rekindled
Cuz the fame's what I was mainly in for
One day my niggas gave me info
I was number one on the vandalism's guest list
And cops is restless
That's when the phone ring
It was five-0
Sorry wrong number
Shit it's about to be a long summer

(phone ringing)

Vakill: "Damn five-o, shit, i gotta think fast, gotta
Get the fuck outta here"

Some Ho: "You gonna answer the fucking phone or what?"

Vakill: "naw, don't touch that shit"


[VERSE II: Vakill]

The name i made in the streets is now a name
Too strong to mention
I was drawing the right shit
But now im drawing the wrong attention
It seems like a feeling most flaunted
Maybe CPD's most wanted
I'm most wanted in particular by this playin' close cop
Named Agon
And right as the niggas he plague on
That shit he caught one of my peeps
And pushed him off the L platform
In front of a train
And now his legs gone
And I already got two strikes for the same shit
Three's a felony
That would make my mothers brain flip
In the judges eyes
I'm a youth of troubled caliber
Fuck community service
I'll do a couple calendars
I ain't built for that
I ain't got that kinda frame god
My brain scarred vision
And that time behind the same bars
Paged [?] ass twice
Shit I wish this fool call
(Phone rings)"what up VAK?"
Meet me at the pool hall

Vakill: "yo pull yo shot nigga"

HOMIE: "I got one on the corner dude, whats up with this taggin' bullshit dude?"

Vakill: "I'm sayin' man, I ain't sweatin' that shit, they ain't gonna catch me alive"

Homie: "dude, but you ain't making no money off of that punk shit dude"

Vakill: "It ain't about the dough dude, its about hip hop yo, its hip hop"

Homie: "dude your looking like shit with paint chips all over your fucking legs"

Vakill: "It's alright though, i'm too clever...."


[VERSE III: Vakill]

Quarter after nine
Were creepin' home
And grabs my mind
I'm facing ten years of math combined
And guaranteed to serve half the time
Its five years too many
For a supposedly graff
Does that pad the crime?
I need to lay low
And what would do me some good
Is a couple days of street separation
I'm suffering from sleep deprivation
Incarcerated nightmares
Got me waking up sweatin'
In deep perspiration
I lit up a bag of boom
That's when it hit me starin'
As the cloud shaped weed smoke
In the air I saw loomed
Arming through the illest piece
Then close every window in the room
Till i'm consumed by the aerosol fumes
Maybe jail got me suicidal
Or maybe this will make me an
A underground legend
A sewer idol
No regrets and no saying goodbye
Shit i'd rather it be this way
This was the sweetest way
To die