Текст песни: Autobiographical + перевод

It’s the brown child, better version of the story

Sees Conji, a sister, mother played by Tori

In Astoria, kid named Tiki took the cake

The greens and the steak and the potatoes and the plate

Never a dummy, rejections are funny

Cuz, the first years of my life I thought that food stamps were money

So by ten I was the mess, got a men and then I had friend

So now I’m snatching pocket books with Sean Wilkinson

'Get that money, lil nigga' that’s what they told me

I never sweated props cause like my pops they couldn’t hold me

Until he found shorty’s got it going on, rolling on

Damn, Who told? bendecion.

The Bland man, and my pop don’t give a damn

The day I played with matches, took the stove to my hand

Hot temperature! He told me the players' version

The ego in submersion for the end of week excursion

Until I’m back, back on the scene

Like a ball on the green, giving strokes with my team

Cuz, despite the commentary pop told me, I’m lowly

And moms change-bank can’t hold me, so

She don’t scold me, she just grabs the belt

Knuckle the buckle, tells me all about the pain she felt

At the precinct when a pre-teen was spotted at the scene

Came up with the green, not a cop could intervene

(Mother)

Listen here, you little motherfucker

You ain’t going to fuck with me

Got me coming to this damn precinct

Dammit, I’m a kick your motherfucking ass

Shit! You ain’t going to drive me crazy

Now, dig it, Tori met Tom not too long ago

He was a nigga, yo, he said he had the flow though

He loved a bro, I know I didn’t see you grow

To a TV show cause the nigga said we all could go

So I’m up and out of the ghetto, son of a gold miner

City-slicking Carolinian standing out like Ming china

A golden bull at heart though I moved around

The balls bounced to the bottom, settled at a small town

'Hey, boy! What’s your name?!' First day, first fight

I’m out of New York and «boy» it don’t sit right if you’re white

Light were my steps from there

Did my dirt on the low, a Southern town nightmare

Cause the next year it was me and «F» on the furlough

We were the only Queens kids but there were other boroughs

With Rockwell, D-Ski, Ron Duke and Freddie

New York was represented like we danced for Rock Steady

Stan had tables and mics, every brother nice

Not only could we rip and rhyme but backspin and slice

With Paris and Foxy and Christina P’s bust

You know them loud, raunchy, trouble-making niggas? That was us

A menace yet still I played tennis, ain’t that cruddy

Advanced with the Reeboks, they called them 'cut buddies'

I hung with one, only one younger brother

Shorty Doo-Wop could cut and scratch up any other

Bigger than his size, was barely five feet

In '83 broke beats that today rock streets

With no one to grade it, still never debated

Some saw and hated but they never contemplated

Yeah! It was the foul child with wild styles, pal but not foul

A dis was never okay unless it came before corral

Pals of mine, peoples though were down

I graduate next week and, yo, next week I’m NY bound

Seven days from that one I’m leaving love that weighs a ton

I’m going to miss you niggas, yo, that rapping shit was crazy fun

But I’m leaving on the next bus

I’ve got your numbers and we’ll keep in touch, I trust

Gliding, riding back to my domain

For love and money, fuck fame, my life will never be the same

As the next man’s words, can you dig it?

I say I got a scheme, a-yo, I gots you figured

(Corner)

Yo, wassup, wassup. Is money out here?

Yo, I just got a call from that nigga Tiki

Remember that nigga Tiki?

He on his way from down South

My real pops was a pusher, when we left he had a section

So I keep it in the family, or at least I make connections

With the prime figures for affiliated support

In my purchase of cargo in the import and export

Flushing, Queens: back when junkies was the fiends

My childhood friends held buddha, had babies in dreams

I took pops off my shit list cause he had the fitness

To help Tiki get his, what the fuck, pop? Jehovah witness

What the fuck, pop? What’s with the fizz-plop

I’m like, I can’t put him down but the shit don’t stop

Worked at a law firm, for lack of fear

I wrote a resume, spending words like a millionaire

From there to the bank, see the bank’s down the block

So now I’m close to home, I clock, I plot

With Popote, he’s my cousin and a wily one

Though the kid was younger, quick like thunder

With the heart to put you under

Props even, the shit can’t fail

I saw Reese, bagged with Pote and made a sale

(Co-Dee)

Go ahead, get that money

Get that money!

I ain’t going to let nobody see you

I got your back, baby, I got your back

You want five? You only got two

On one late night, I had made a nice amount

More than two weeks pay, playing with the new accounts

So I rose like a petal, fuck pops, I run with thugs

Levis, Tims, hoodie, coat, skully, drugs

Fatigues before they were the fashion

Pockets with work and others with cash in

Thought I was cool with tools and mad trap

My pops was like «read this» but I was like fuck that

So I jingle-jangled, clocked at every angle

Tiki’s getting paid and his crew’s star-spangled

And everyday, all day/night, yo, whatever

Niggas on the strip in sub-zero weather

Back before the first generation of fiends

My team was sheer cream, keeping dollar bills green

Fashion, Calvin cooler, playing Rick the Ruler

And I won’t front on nobody cause I pulled on a woolah

Back in '86 ­ first, foremost and final

Rhyming on the corner, all I want to be’s on vinyl

I bum rush and boom bash, not even for merit

Bounce out to see Reg and Joe down on Merrick

But mostly it’s the strip that I played like a cock

On the block until the day I got knocked

(Police sirens to fade)