Tuesday Thru Sunday - Us (Thursday) [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1: Matt Meyer Lansky]
Yo why the fuck is you licking a reefer, Bumping Arethra, wearing a beater. chilling with beaners
You should be driving a beamer, listen to Bieber, drinking some Be-ers, licking the beaver
I be chilling with divas, rolling the pita , full of the reefer, smoking the cheeba, chilling with strippers I tell em meet'm
Then they come he-ere, suck on my peter
I'm sipping on some Damiana, smoking on some Marijuana, stunting like the Dali Lama
Rolling like Barack Obama, riding with a foxy mama, looking like a half man half rare ?
Money ain't a issue, damn I need a tissue, I just nutted in yo girl's mouth and then she kissed you
What up though, ya dumb ho?
I'm fucking dunking like ?
My tongue flow sharper than a cutco
Dawg you wack as hell, if you was half as ill, then I would have to chill from leaving you pushing up daffodils
I got that getty green, get with me, get it to
Bitch my pockets fatter than a motherfucking ?
You a herbivore, fucking pie guy, gotcho girl saying betty bye bye in some thigh highs
Got her in a position similar to doing Muay Tai, the milks already spilt, homey why cry?
I be in your shorty's thorax, and you?
You be getting less attention than a doormat
Hold that thought, while she blow Matt off, as I floss in a Porsche too small for Rick Ross
Her and homey only 5/6, but his width is only merely less than 5/6th by a slight inch
And I just relapsed, look at my twitch, whole body shaking from my thighs to my eyelids
Feeling colors, vibrant, I don't know what I did, swimming in pyramids as I listen to a violin
I don't know where my life is, feeling like this where life ends
Outer body experience holier than what Christ is
And now I know where Christ lives, anytime I want I can go and sit right beside him
Look at my eyes, you see the size of my pupils
You ain't running shit yo you need that Metamucil
And I don't know about you bro I'm bouta be the talk of New York, no Joe Buttafuoco
I'mma ruffian like Rufio, sniffing on some Elmers Glue, messing with a Rubix cube while trying to get the best of you


[Verse 2: Robb Bank$]
Me and you, yo momma and yo cousins too, fuck with my crew
In the booth, lights off, backshots to yo boo
She believe all my lies and tell you like it's the truth
And I don't really give a fuck, nigga what?
I flex, I stunt, make yo girl roll a blunt
Sorry if I'm too blunt, or for putting up a front
But enough about me, lets just talk about..Us
You lil bitch!
Fuck with me...Stop fucking with me!