Foreign Beggars - Black Hole Propecies [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Metropolis]
We gather in celebration of life, when embracing the mic
One taste of my strife, full straight from fight
Raising my right fist, blazingly high
Stating my right to recite, I'll be taking a flight
Lazin' above clouds, ravin' up high, I
Sail to my touchdown when I clutch crowds and I bust loud
And instruct how the rhyme form can be twisted, can be
Lifted above norms, handed visions
Random writtens that drop jaws, making your clock pause, I'm
Shaming to clog pores, aiming to lock jaws, changing the fuck laws
As we come to the fore, inspired by the sweet scent of skunk from the floor
Words tumbling forth, crumbling hordes
In verses they stumble of course, and burst under my force
Survivors left with their wonder and awe, we exit stage left to a thunderous applause

[Verse 2:Orifice Vulgatron]
He lives alone in a black hole
It's the bow-legged masochist, who's savage with a crack pole
He snatched souls, ravaged whole towns and villages
Stole pounds with which he fills the cold mouth he drivels with
He comes around you with his gold and brown vintage kicks
Trying to snoop around to use some old sounds from ninja flicks
They let him go about his business, said he wasn't to be trusted since he tends to things with clenched fists

[Hook]
Iron Man slang is the one with vile tongue
Spit venom, still strip yelling by the hollow home
Ice-faced vagrants take flight like a bird of prey
We murder, praise, first enslave vermin, break their vertebrae
Pilot plans scams from the brain of the Sire scum
Higher strand math from a stray who defiles slums
We walk forward, make haste until the sundown
Living to the fullest, feel like bullets from a thundercloud

[Verse 3: Orifice Vulgatron]
He came to Earth to make a mark on this existence
With a strategy so elusive most remark with thick indifference
It’s the visions of the ancients, lost words of the episcopal
Risen from within, he sips a gourd that’s filled with pilfered souls
As though he walks amongst the damned, holding nothing but a cold can of fiction in his hand
He was a storyteller, outlaw, working on a masterpiece
Head amidst his hands, he chased the stars until the laughter ceased
A common thief bestowed forth into oblivion
Caught past the millions of warlord’s forced dominions
The cold hearts of billions, the raw stock simian
Forethought sought to spawn his brawn amongst his minions
He spread his wisdom with a strange grin
The Grand-Wizard-Alchemist-Prison-Rat who chased skin
He played king to all those who drifted
The sweet taste of sin plagued the tin he pegged his lips with

[Verse 4: Metropolis]
A humble home in the shredded threads of a borrowed bra
But my bowl holds sorrows in a hollow hold
See, I'm of the Apollo mold
Meaning I drift though space via bull with a copper tone
Me, I run a rhythm like a cartel
Never stop giving them the sharp nail, hard tail
We impart dark tales in the deep of night
Poised, the poison tips all sail at the speed of light

[Repeat Hook]