Black Smoke, Young Prophet - Lost Dreams [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Black Smoke]
Gotta stay under the radar, catch me on the backstreet
On this money marathon it's sorta like a track meet
Life seems wicked when you dealing with the demons
Eventually we die, shit I'm lucky to be breathing
All my niggas ride we never hesitated when it's beef
Lighting candles for a nigga that was dedicated to the streets
Mastermind in the booth, the proof is in the proving we the truth
Voice of reason, no, consider me the voice of the youth
That voice of the youth, orchestrating the power to rally troops
Not that M-16, uniforms with the boots
Organized young brothers that are armed with the truth
That's the only way that a war won't ensue
Doctors wonder why I leave track bruised, beats black and blue
Scrolls of the truth, these lyrics are left unraveling you
Unraveling laces, funeral homes, unusual places
Demons follow my dreams, lost means and unusual faces

[Hook: Young Prophet]
Lost dreams, mass funerals and unusual faces
Rebellions, cracked roads, like it's baked in the basements
Weed smoke, bleeding throats and Bacardi chasers
Heaven-sent, like we forgot the Devils who made us

Heaven-sent, like we forgot the Devils who made us
Lost dreams, mass funerals and unusual faces
Rebellions, cracked roads, like it's baked in the basements
Weed smoke, bleeding throats and Bacardi chasers

[Verse 2: Prince Apollo]
My dreams, shit, nothing stopped me from chasing them
Constantly chased by these demons I was stopped from escaping them
I don't know what stopped me from facing them
Nothing stops me from pulling out a mac, cocking back and erasing them
But I'm still falling back, hopping back in that Cadillac
Or running back when they pull a mac, shit gave me a heart attack
Skinny nigga, hitting tracks, leave 'em gasping, blue and black
Smoking grass, I'm unapproved so I wear a fucking mask
Hidden from my demons, but I gotta stay scheming above the mass
Stay scheming 'till my third eye beaming and the competition's smashed
Cross around my neck like a 80 collar or my mother's locket
Shit, god made me a prophet, destined since birth, ain't no way you could stop it
I'm barely blazed, but I'm self made, I was made for the cockpit
You ain't made for the eyes of a king, these lines are more than what's in your pocket
I'm Atlas, fucking faggots spitting tragic, wand in my hand, a magician spitting magic
With the torch in the other, a fucking savage wreaking havoc like it's Hell's last fucking salvage

[Hook: Young Prophet]