Edgar Wyndham - Daily Grind [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Edgar Wyndham]
I’m at the brink and about to jump over
Punks jump up, get beat down when I’m sober
Then I think faster and am quicker to capture
So bastards, just freeze like a statue
So I can just blast you with even less trouble
My mic spray rounds though I’m seein double
So be reasonable an’ don’t drop a lotta bull
And give me a reason to pull out the auto full
Full-ly, though you know that’s really not me
Sometimes I still wanna go off irrationally
Cuz social responsibility and political content
With the mainstream that shit’ll always conflict
Money make hip-hop suck worse than '96
Shadow of what it was, with all this mindless shit
But I’m scholastic, you know I’m in the know
And oh smash it so hot I got a pyroclastic flow

[Verse 2: Edgar Wyndham]
I’d have to be lyin' to say I ever waste time
Ain’t never been a day I ain’t been on my daily grind
In the music biz the new potentate, I’m
The potentate of time who don’t simply rhyme
I’m the gold lion who is always betrayed
Ain’t lyin when I say enemies’ll be slayed
And never underestimate the power of an enemy
Any enemy of his is a friend of me
Life on mars, take it back to the seventies
With music stars makin’ music that’s heavenly
Wonder will this music just be the death of me
Show and prove it with every breath that’s left in me
Style so heavenly so watch me flow on ya
The president of weaponry, I ba-rrrock o-bomb-ya
So I dominate and bomb ya wit the hate
Plus I’ll drop lines for y'all to contemplate

[Verse 3: Edgar Wyndham]
Everyday I feel the need to smack the daily fool
Cuz everything they say is so lackadaisical
In fact, I’m sick of all these act tough guys
Ya fucks think ya fly cuz you used to buckin in the sky
I spit on tracks cuz I know the price
If I don’t give it back, what’s the point in this life
Yea I’m not black I might happen to be white
You notice? but I don’t like rappin race on the mic
Cuz I’m tight regardless of the color
Use a mic like a hard pillow, take it and I smother
Cuz there’s no other that could kill it like me
Don’t have to be a brother to be a real MC
Cuz I love beats, and yea I love the funk
Call thugs weak to they face cuz I’m drunk
So pop that trunk, that won’t make ya tough
Let’s fight with mics, we’ll see who has the biggest nuts