Markis Precise - For You [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Produced by Markis Precise]

[Intro: Scratching]
Strong Arm Steady
It's the Strong Arm Steady from the west
This ain't a pop song
This is Strong Arm Steady
I represent my clique
Please introduce youself... Krondon

[Verse 1: Krondon]
Automatic magazine, shyeah
Mayhem, a tragic scene, yeah
Left a nigga, David Carradine
No disrespect to the dead, I'm trying to paint a scene
Mayday, mayday, murder with an M16
Mini massacre, sting worse than Listerine
You see him Batty boy, him playing Byzantine
With them pause action, switching on TV
That Black Uhuru, that young Buju
[?] and do it pronto
The head honcho in the [?] poncho
[?] for the fly hoes, shit
That's interested all in my clothes, they call me over
She's at the door in a robe, you know it's over
Yeah, yeah, it's over, when I fucking get up I don't know her

[Hook1: Scratching]
Phil the Agony
You know the name
I'm a hold mine, steady spitting cold lines
You know the Strong Arm Steady don't play
I blast at any knucklehead fucking with rap
Check how I handle my flow
Phil the Agony, y'all
Take a trip somewhere on the west side

[Verse 2: Phil the Agony]
Los Angeles, I-5, 405, 110 to 105, I pounded a lot
My flow open the roads, punching in miles
Dogg Food, Dogg Pound album, so many styles
Miles Davis, Malibu mansion, dancing out in the Hamptoms
A Puffy Daddy party with Scarlett Johansson
White linen, pink champagne, fly women play the background
In pictures we frame, then send them back out
For postcards of [?] we at
Fuck the Coast Guard, I just want my privacy back
Taking phone calls of blocked numbers that might be Louise
Overseas they all have families from West Indies
She got the jet skis from Tahoe to Sao Paulo
Brazil, ill models, bottles of Dom, '93 chill
Steady nigga, Strong Arm, what up

[Hook 2: Scratching]
Mitchy Slick
San Diego
Business, I'm with the business
Not the radio
Steady's at the pinnacle
To the Steady, Slick runs the gangsta shit

[Verse 3: Mitchy Slick]
I had this gift since I was a kid, I entertained the streets
By being a gun ventriloquist, busting at me cussing niggas
Out at the functions, soon as a nigga say something
My gun's gums start to buck from protocol
You're obligated to handle all busting
When your g homies stunting at the gathering
While you talking trash and gambling
Yeah our peoples soon to start having then
You see what I'm already brandishing
Million dollar cowboy who got hit by clacking first
Nigga shouldn't have dissed the turf
Now there's shit squirting out his shirt
See my clickers like to mob and being family has its perks
Every nigga got a job and everyone done put in work
We ain't afraid of the horror that comes from the gruesomest punishment
Done to enemies, triple murder to prove we big
Mama weeping after the [?] streets sweeping
The reaper rocking green robe when he creeping for the Lincolns

[Hook 3: Scratching]