DJ Quik — Paroles et traduction des paroles de la chanson Streets Iz Callin'
La page contient les paroles et la traduction française de la chanson « Streets Iz Callin' » de DJ Quik.
Paroles
I see I gotta play another game, so…
If I’mma go out, I’mma go out right, you know’m sayin'?
(Talk to ‘em, dog) Cool wit' it all
I’m untouchable (yeah)
I’m on a plane, Calcutta bound
Meeting with them people from that sample we done turned around
Trying to stop the war with a hardcore dancefloor type of lesson
‘Cause the truth will hurt forever more
Now what’s my punishment? (What?)
You mean to tell me I could get sued for making sure my people have some fun
and shit? (Damn)
It’s a funny game
It’s like the time that ol' boy got Pac, and me, and Jackie kicked off that
Houston plane
For drinking Remy Martin, acting up and starting
And that’s all I got to say about that—pardon
‘Cause that’s a binge frenefit, nigga been the shit
I fucked around and did business with niggas on some friend shit
But to no avail, this is show and tell
Only thing I ever got for working was a broken nail
That’s all I really know about the streets
It’s the hustle, get hustled, get down or get beat
Wake up in some herbs this morning
And I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling
Now I done helped a lot of enemies that didn’t deserve it
That’s probably why I be the one that you won’t see at their service
We swerve and never nervous (Never) I’m a daredevil
Just ask the homie Pervis, nigga, we on their level
Ain’t nothin' gon' stop the flowing, and the 4−4'ing, and showing
That I done been a corporation when y’all was still growing
Niggas say I fell off, ha, (Fell off?) They gotta say that
That give ‘em false security to think they demo ain’t wack
Nigga, I’m standing on a bottle looking over the fence
Trippin' off this bullshit that we up against
Crippin' is mainstream, pimpin' is ballfield
The truth is stranger than a lie but it’s all real
I’m a mack from the P-card, a G, a star
A rider, a rebel, independent, believe we are
Trying to forget about my past, that’s all
Open a bottle of Cristal and pass it to y’all
Now what up? Where the riders at?
Wake up in some herbs this morning
And I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling
Stomp out my house on the hill, to El Villa Negril
The Mediterranean, pay me and I’m back at the wheel
In Montego Bay, drinking with G, Dr. B
Chuckey mack a fe', watch her climbing up the coconut tree
Suga Free is no sweeter than the bitterest fruits
Blame it on Compton and my niggerish roots
I’m down to kick a hater with the biggest of boots
It’s not about the strap, it’s ‘bout the nigga issues, fool
I’m SuperCalifornialisticexpeal-a
Creep around the city in a red Impala
Short-tempered nyggas get stuck and die wet
And short-money nyggas speak a different dialect
So give me my Cris', give me my hits, give me my bitch
Give me my spliff, give me my fifth, give me my gift
Tropical skin color, nice and thin mother
Of my virtual kids because I hump in thin rubbers
Now…
Wake up in some herbs this morning
I can hear the streets, they’re calling
Wake up in the pool this morning
I can feel the vibes, they’re calling
Traduction des paroles
Un cavalier, un rebelle, indépendant, croient que nous sommes
Essayer d'oublier mon passé, c'est tout
Ouvrez une bouteille de Cristal et passez-la à vous tous
Maintenant, quelle place? Où sont les cavaliers?
Réveillez vous avec des herbes ce matin
Et je peux entendre les rues, ils appellent
Réveil dans la piscine ce matin
Je peux sentir les vibrations, ils appellent
Stomp ma maison sur la colline, à El Villa Negril
La Méditerranée, payez-moi et je suis de retour au volant
À Montego Bay, boire avec G, Dr. B
Chuckey mack a fe', la regarder grimper le cocotier
Suga Free n'est pas plus sucré que les fruits les plus amers
Blâmer Compton et mes racines nègres
Je suis en bas pour botter un hater avec la plus grande des bottes
Ce n'est pas à propos de la sangle, c'est à propos des problèmes de négro, imbécile
Je suis SuperCalifornialisticexpeal-a
Fluage autour de la ville dans un Impala rouge
Les nyggas coléreux se coincent et meurent mouillés
Et les nyggas à court d'argent parlent un dialecte différent
Alors donne-moi mes Cris, donne-moi mes coups, donne-moi ma chienne
Donnez-moi mon spliff, donnez-moi mon cinquième, donnez-moi mon cadeau
Couleur de la peau tropicale, belle et mince mère
De mes enfants virtuels parce que je bosse dans des caoutchoucs minces
Maintenant…
Réveillez vous avec des herbes ce matin
Je peux entendre les rues, ils appellent
Réveil dans la piscine ce matin
Je peux sentir les vibrations, ils appellent