Текст песни: La Schmoove + перевод

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

Yo, when I was small they used to tease me

Because my hair was peasy, hard and greasy

But now I’m living well like George and Wheezy

So easy (WHAT) does it (YO)

Is it because I’m rocking — beats, beats, beats

Fu-Manchu'n cause I’m doing what just had to be done

Now we in there like swimwear, girls calling me hon

Give me hugs, little peck, mucho tongue, lots of sex

Nuff respects to my bros that live on five-six street (RIGHT)

I’m smashing monster mashing boom bashing in a fashion

Which is wild now I smile when I whip-lash MCs with my style

Call me cuckoo, I’m making buku bucks

I’m geared and fully prepared to tear all MCs that are schmuks

For bros who sleep and cavity creep and listen when I talk

As I soothe in the groove, 'cause I’m smooth like Mr. Rourke

Doobely-zoo Mr. Wu, no need to be rude but F. U

'Cause I ain’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

Leave it to Beaver'-arriva, derci

Heavens to mercy ba FU sayanora

Adios muchachos dorme vous unbuckle my Fu-Schnick shoe

Mr. Chip Fu, about to wreck shop

With the Judo (CHOP) a Judo (CHOP) a Judo chop (CHOP)

Yo zilch kaput me nada none son

I don’t think so, so take a look at

A Superfly big Jimmy the Honeynut Cheerio Bee

Ba schnicker bah snchnucker

I ams what I ams that’s all what I ams

My lyrics are never done

I’m the big John Elmer Glue the Elmer the Fudd

Al Bundy the Bud Light stud

Come like tongues lashes, with the quickness

Moc and Poc is, my witness

Ask the Kung about my tongue and the styles that I brung instead

I’m the Ali Babi cutty rankin shuba-dib-da-dabble

Jaw Boy Wonder Bread dread, BUM BA READ

These lyrics ah-come out of mi head, BUM BA READ

Mr. Chip Fu’s gon stay' di-di, da-di-di, dra-dread

You said I couldn’t rap, but I really wrecked shop

And I don’t stop drop, I get props

I pick up the mic drop a style and pattern and fashion

And all MCs jaws drops down

My accent, you’re mocking my clothes, you’re clocking

Ripping MCs to smithereens to their

Ribbidy-diddiby-Pippi Long-STOCKINGS

So don’t step to Chip, I’m on the La Schmoove tip

You’ll say Drats I really failed again plus he sank my Babble-ship

So oooh, shit G, wa-wa or biscuit

Rip it and be specific doin' it terrific when I kicks it

Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, Pepé Le Pew, Pepé Le Pew

La Schmoove, yo I ain’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

Now here I go, once again with the ill flow

Other MCs that rap, their style is so-so

Phife Dawg was never the type that ever lacked skills

I just stay true to my roots and then I get ill

Twenty years of age but yet I still seek (KNOWLEDGE)

And this year, was so-called, my Senior year in (COLLEGE)

But I chose to pursue, in a field called music

And with some hype beats and breaks you know I won’t refuse it

Get on the board lay down the track and I’ll do ten laps

Pass the pen, pass the pad, and I’ll kick nuff (RAPS)

Just come inside your jam and witness who is boss

And it won’t be Tony Danza nor Diana Ross

As small as I am, I still can pack jams

Do a freestyle and step, but yet I still slam

Not trying to say that no one can get with me

Not only is it the lyrics I write, it’s my delivery

Name one rapper that you know who has this high-strung voice

My name’s Malik and I’m unique, in other words top choice

Nothing commercial 'bout this, it’s mainly hardcore

Now that you got what you want, do you want more

Because I got more in store

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

MC, the Shining One, a.k.a. The Golden Child

I have a grin at times but then throw up a fake smile

Vaseline Intensive Care, don’t fear mon frere

Sak Pase, everybody that rappin', G pull his hair

Back in the groove, it’s no way you can handle this

Shit so fly, that you can call it scandalous

'Cause I manifest in, words that I’m preaching

Unleashing you now seek the sounds that I’m teaching

I hear (NOT) see (NOT), knots to makes butts (ROCK)

I rides rhythm to the beginnin, then won’t stop

The Chinese Son of Sam, the Skipper’s Peter Pan

The rootinest tootinest cowboy in the East

Releasing a new type of lyrical lingo

Single, «The Alarm», the girls cooties I will tingle

No expiration date, so you know I won’t (EXPIRE)

No skippin a weekly check, so I don’t have to (RETIRE)

Write, the ca-pital, M. O

Chip Fu with the Kung-Fu givin shouts on my show

Ir-regular styles is here too

Tripped, boo-boo, you first made a mistake

Not Alexander but considered to be Great

Great, but, like the Grape Ape

Fake, the moves, and your ankles I will break

Break or broken, the M.O., has spoken

Movements on the slick, taking the train you need a token

I guess not, 'cause you pause for the cause

You either biting your nails, or start picking straws

Holy Mick I’m living large just like trunk jewels

Nuff respects to many minds, Ah-OWWWWEE

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove

La Schmoove, yo we don’t got nothing to prove