Big City - Stick 'Em Up [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Greg Nice]
Yo, check check check me out
What?
Yo yo check me out
Stick 'em up, stick 'em up
Stick 'em up, stick 'em up, stick 'em up
Yo, check check check me out
What?
Yo yo check me out
Stick 'em up, stick 'em up, stick 'em up
Aye!

[Verse One: Problemz]
I'm Chuck D, Public Enemy #1
5-0 said "freeze", picture that when I'm totin' one
Chosen one like the Golden Child
Fled the scene and left 'em frigid like the frozen aisle
Nigga you know my style, gettin' bad with a burner
I do the Jackie Joyner-Kersee all the way to the house
Gettin' head at the window like L. Hars Malik peekin'
For crooked cops creepin', tryin' to leave me leakin'
I'm not a Puerto Rican but I'm speakin' so that you know
The four fifth lift and got more kick than Judo
Quatro, tres, dos, uno, blast off like NASA if I have to
Captivating like the final chapter
Put it on wax and watch the vinyl get scratched up
Have 'em Dancing On The Ceiling like Lionel's last cut
Like Ned the Wino, out here hustling fast bucks
Hit harder than brass knucks, the City is mad nuts
You crazy?

[Hook: Greg Nice] {X2}
Jump! Jump!
Aye!
Put your hands in the air
Put 'em up high in the atmosphere
Matter fact nigga, leave 'em right there
Stone cold stick 'em up

[Verse Two: Psycho Les]
Chumps Jump Up To Get Beat Down and robbed
Then snitch to the cops, "It was the Big City mob"
I don't be talkin' a lot but I walk with a bop
Big bossin' ya, tellin' you to empty out the box
Takin' off your shoes, leaving you in socks
Off with the jewels, checkin' out the rocks
Kept smackin' you, leavin' you with knots
Peeling up the block, leave you screaming for the cops
Snitchin' my description, I'll leave with gun shots
How many times must I tell ya bloodclots?
We run this city and we'll run your spot
That quick so don't even blink
You say "yeah", as we start to rock
And put your hands in the air while we go through your pockets
It's a stick up kid, I got the Glock to your forehead
I warned ya, but you ignored me now hold that

[Hook]

[Verse Three: Al Tariq]
Look how I, grab the hand, dip to Harlem World
Other hand on my banger, I ain't trust a girl
And I trust no one, ship guns from the south
I'll have my little brother Divine, just run up in ya house
Put one up in ya mouth, now ya can't speak
Can't tell the pigs, "His name's Al Tariq
Or is it Tony Smalls? It's Mr. T somethin'."
Y'all just frontin', y'all ain't really sayin' nothin'
Nothin', nothin', nada
Bad bitch at home, she don't rock Prada
Won't rock Gucci and she never rock Guess
She love the Sour Diesel but she can't stand cess
Yes
It's the king of upper west
Small city, big guns, the ?? is where it's at
So watch how ya walkin', watch how ya lookin'
Or you'll be stuck up and you ain't in Brooklyn

[Hook]