Fiyablasta - Spitzophrenia [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

Verse:
Hello, bonjour, konichiwa, hola, wassup!
Fellow hardcore offspring, we got no job but bust!
So come out to play, no need to be afraid, this beat is our prey
And after feasting leave the carcass up for display
I implore you to destroy two or more bars if that won't bore you
AfterTouch offered this blank canvas so here's the oil
Van Gogh hard in the paint for the Sunflower State til it's muddied in Kansas soil
Then wait a minute, let me get it. I'ma spit it like the middle west raised me
Blazing! Many want to get on this Fiya with a twist, but they end up with an orifice foaming; rabies
So the people think that's sick, because it don't click that the quickness got lifted
From the Midwest, best section in the whole wide, wide world. The fiasco was giving swine this pearl
Get off your soapbox. I can't be accessory to your faux pas
'Sposed to kill it from attic ceiling to finished basement the whole song
No nonsense, just the conscious art of bombing
Graffiti on tracks with locomotives that hip hop
Should I remind you that train of thought is played out
Same route been taken so long it's lame now
You need to turn up, autotune, trap out, and lean it over to the side
Triplet your homicide, flicking lyrics til they rhyme, fitting dimwits in a pine
Box that I'm out of
That undergroundling connected to you by that wireless router
Pinging the meanings of Jupiterans and you're in for abstract thinking
Bruising the losers; Black to purple; offensive and hurtful; Jinxing
Or is it Ditto if you Mr. Mime the same time
Or is it Brillo if you missed a line? My dang mind
Bends stupendously endlessly and I see entropy
Get the gist? I'm sick! (That Spitzophrenia!)
When is it my turn? The mic yearns for me. (No, it don't, homie)
(Had my eye on it, so when I lash, I master slave own it)
So give it to me, so we can be free; exploring passed norms and formal settings
(Are you kidding?) Hand it over! (No way!) STOP!
Or I'll be lodging it in your esophagus
Til you're oxygen-less and lobbing a fist after
(That, sir, is what the problem is: the answer isn't hyperviolent)
Keep your peace talks, my sniper's silent
You-you done-done messed-messed up-up now-now, I-I pro-pro-test-test
Ri-ri-ot-ot-ing-ing on-on wri-wri-ting-ting ain't-ain't best-best
One-one at-at a-a time-time per-per verse-verse
So-so re-re-sults-sults won't-won't be-be so-so per-per-verse-verse

Chorus:
That Spitzophrenia (repeated)

Threes!