Earl Sweatshirt — Paroles et traduction des paroles de la chanson Hive
La page contient les paroles et la traduction française de la chanson « Hive » de Earl Sweatshirt.
Paroles
Promise Heron I’ll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked
Quick buck, maybe a gold chain
With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
The description doesn’t fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit spit
It just burn like six furnaces writ it It affixed learning them digits, and simultaneously
«Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn’t he?»
One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy
And crawling down fax like a rich nigga centipede
Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account
Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out
Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off
Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga
(Sweatshirt, nigga)
'87 roof top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don’t fuck with no cop
(Rolling with that flow swamp)
Catch me over stove top
(Rapping to that coke rock)
(Passionless in old Jive clothing
With them doors wide open)
(Dim the floor lights, focused)
Like it’s nothing, cause it’s nothing, bitch
From a city that’s recession-hit
With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death’s less important when the Lakers lose
There’s lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through
Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to So here I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it’s truth serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, reappear bearded
On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again
Provider of the backdrop music
For the crack rock user and the mascot, Earl
Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than?
Boy oh boy, I’m bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit
Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit
'87 roof top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don’t fuck with no cop
(Rolling with that flow swamp)
Catch me over stove top
(Rapping to that coke rock)
(Passionless in old Jive clothing
With them doors wide open)
(Dim the floor lights, focused)
Like it’s nothing, cause it’s nothing, bitch
Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain’t about shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz
Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed
I’m ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
Selling thizz, couldn’t tell him what the recipe is Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers
Send chills up spines of fat bitches after
Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
Live and I live for money, other words, I’m getting money
Little boy told me when it’s time to ride, they’ll send them for me Ain’t nobody scaring me, niggas ain’t prepared for heat
Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit
If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless
Nine-four, would’ve had them walking down Death Row
First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do Voice inside my head told me, «Wet 'em if they test you»
So it’s Raging Waters season
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless
Everybody hard until it’s only God they seeing
Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don’t believe it But to each his own, I ain’t tripping long as I can reach the chrome
Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass
Tell 'em «Free Smalls,» off Palm with the heat drawn
Strapped up long as the chief for police armed
Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case
Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain
Like it’s nothing, cause it’s nothing, bitch
Traduction des paroles
Pour L'utilisateur de crack rock et la mascotte, Earl
Plus Rawer que la casquette de genou peau sur le blacktop
Glandes salivaires, liquide plus léger pour la boîte d'allumettes
Frappant, attendre, attendre, qui la baise vous plus méchant qu'?
Bon sang, je suis mauvais comme pollo brûlé du gril et de la merde
Cracheur du petit Nick, agile, rickrolling
Chienne niggas ramasser la litière, Piff-ventilateur, plus je pille la merde
Toit 87, Bronson
Fouetter hoopties tryna boost raw chronique
(Brutus dans cette cabine, double scoop, jarret vomit)
(Sous bascule, bruit sourd frapper niggas dents lâches)
Bruh, je baise pas avec un flic
(Roulant avec ce marais d'écoulement)
Attrape moi sur la cuisinière
(Rapper à ce rock coke)
(Passionless dans de vieux vêtements de Jive
Avec eux les portes ouvertes)
(Dim les lampadaires, concentré)
Comme il n'est rien, c'est rien, salope
Arrête avec tous ces discours durs, bruh, nous savons que vous niggas n'est pas sur la merde
Venez, nous les abattons, les corps empilés, Auschwitz
Tenues pare-balles, armes dissimulées
Je suis prêt à tuer, alors testez - le, toutes mes armes sont réelles
La vente de thizz, ne pouvait pas lui dire quelle est la recette Got ' em souhaitant qu'ils n'ont jamais donné ces armes aux enfants, cheers
Envoyer des frissons jusqu'à épines de graisse chiennes après
Montre jeter des sandwichs, niggas obtenir comment ils
Vivre et je vis pour l'argent, d'autres mots, je reçois de l'argent
Petit garçon m'a dit quand il est temps de monter, ils vont les envoyer pour moi Est-ce que personne ne me fait peur, niggas n'est pas préparé pour la chaleur
Outils frappé comme des bâtons de piscine, la façon dont je cue Merde
Si c'était 88, J'aurais signé chez Ruthless
Neuf-quatre, les auraient fait marcher dans le couloir de la mort
Le premier est quand le meilleur aller, la haine est ce que le reste ne voix à l'intérieur de ma tête m'a dit, "mouiller" em s'ils vous testent»
Donc C'est la saison des eaux qui fait rage
Que yomper grand comme Larry Johnson, laissez votre maman sans pépins
Tout le monde dur jusqu'à ce que ce soit seulement Dieu qu'ils voient