Текст песни: First Things First + перевод

Yo, yo. What’s up this is Takktics, universal soldier

Keeping it jiggy for the S-O-Cs

Year two G, bioknights regin supreme

What’s up y’all, we’s about to get hardcore

Re-re-re-reactive armor, you know what I’m saying

It’s like a M-1 tank

I rip through your sound banks

I to pranks, get ruthless like a long shank

Punks want coins, it they don’t give thanks to

Dragon dog, with high ranks

I am a pirate, no a pilot, the battleship

With ill cybernetics shit, on a sci-fi tip

Strictly hype when I bite a mic

I bring the sixs, the oh, the eight to the battle hype

It’s Takktics, tactical, ill-dramitical, radical

Coming with a fist full of spittin' bull

It’s ill flow for the elements

608 soldiers bring it on, report to the redgiment

Da shit is evident, we never hesitant

We drill you like a surgen

Take you for your garments and your gumption

What the fucks your function?

(We got no flows, no hip hop style, no conjunction)

First things first y’all, bring it over here (over here)

When we appear, we putting rhymes in your ear

What if we put on top of bass and a snare

This years its got to be loud and clear

Prepare for combat like the F-14 tomcat

Put the bombs in the tracks when I react and thats that

Peep the stats, I’m runnin' through your system like a fax

The toungue is the axe so sharpen up all of them weak raps

I’m storming buildings like Purvian commandos

Mad flows permit me to hit targets quicker than arrows

The specialist in these rhyme sciences aka the iron fist that strikes

Swift

I execute the task of rhyme designing with perfect timing

Electrifying like bolts of lightning when I’m rhyming

See, weak delivieries need to be put on freeze like salaries or athletes

With injuries

I maintain my, position in the game (game)

I’m leaving stains on people’s brains, so they remember the name (name)

The Dark Shade is running with the Shades of Culture unit

(And ayo, we constant with the movements like fluid)

Liek tactics in Desert Storm

I be the undead soldier

I thought I fucking told ya got a space between your shoulder

Get crushed by rolling boulders

On the mics, and the beats, and the streets set the scene for me to cut

Out you spleen

This rap court is hardcore, twisting backs

An ex-con of poultry (?), eating those chickenheads like snacks

Spit out the bones and begin to twist cones

To relax with the dread in the 608 zone

You’re getting kicked in the balls like Pele’s crew

It’s time to get rude, I’m leaving all of them unglued

Falling apart at the seams, and it seems you got pipedreams

Put down the mic and start turning cream

Into butter, don’t stutter or end in the rap gutter

Or go find yourself another managerial staff

DOn’t laugh, find a new crew

Write some fresh lyrics or you’re through

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