More songs by Young Nudy
Description
The heavy air of the southern neighborhoods is thick like syrup in the heat and smells of sweat, dust, and the rustling of banknotes. Here, respect is measured not by words, but by the sound of a gunshot, and status by the number of “S”s on your chest. A world where youth is not about naivety, but about surviving at 170 km/h, while something metallic clicks behind you and fate winks at you with its headlights.
The rhythm beats like a heart in a bulletproof vest: cold, confident, with a touch of madness. It's too real to be just a track, and too loud to be just noise. Here, energy doesn't look for excuses - it just lives, shooting beats at the ceiling and laughing in the face of fear.
Lyrics and translation
Original
Yeah.
Yeah.
-Yeah. -Yeah.
Yeah.
-Yeah. -Yeah.
B one double G,
C, C, C, C, C.
I'm from PDE, E, -E, E, E-H ski. -Yeah.
Nigga tote that chopper, shoot a bitch some money makin'.
-Yeah.
-Hangin' with the robbers and the moppers -cleanin' the street. -Street.
Street, street, street, street, keep it too street.
-Street.
-Where I come from you better keep your -two, two, three. -Three.
Youngin go dumb, he'll smoke your ass, he seventeen.
-Seventeen. -He got a switch on his Glock 17.
-Wow. -Glizzy green beam.
-Beam. -Turn a opp wife to a screen beam.
-A beam.
-Hoes keep talkin' means and my shooters -shoot your whole team. -Uh-huh.
We givin' nigga hashtags and turn they ass to memes.
-To memes.
-We terrorize the whole city, peaceful on -the screen. -The screen.
-Politics, I deal with a lot of it. -A lot of it.
Need a better door, spa-five-five the way we droppin' shit.
Uh-huh.
Hate when niggas hidin', all that talkin' shit.
-That talkin' shit.
-Too much rappin', ain't no slidin', I -don't wanna hear that shit. -Nah.
B one double G, C, C, C, C, C. I'm from PDE, E, E, E, E-H ski.
-Yeah.
-Nigga tote that chopper, shoot a bitch -some money makin'. -Yeah.
Hangin' with the robbers and the moppers cleanin' the street.
-Street.
-Street, street, street, street, keep it -too street. -Street.
Where I come from you better keep your two, two, three.
-Three.
-Youngin go dumb, he'll smoke your ass, he -seventeen. -Seventeen.
-He got a switch on his Glock 17. -Wow.
Your bitch, I'm on her mind, you can hear that shit.
-You hear.
-I screen record her all the time when she -suck my dick. -Mwah, mwah, mwah.
Know I'm on your mind 'cause I hit your bitch.
-Damn.
-Nigga wanna kill me about a vibe, ain't -that dumb some shit? -Ain't that dumb some shit?
Nigga wanna kill about a vibe, ain't that dumb some shit?
Nigga, go get some money, quit worryin' 'bout slidin', everybody had that bitch.
-Yeah.
-Nigga be thinkin' just 'cause they bitch look fine, bitch ain't suckin' dick.
I ain't never put no trench on no bitch, -don't mind me, I just feel like this. -Yeah.
B one double G, C, C, C, C, C.
I'm from PDE, E, -E, E, E-H ski. -Yeah.
Nigga tote that chopper, shoot a bitch some money makin'.
-Yeah.
-Hangin' with the robbers and the moppers -cleanin' the street. -Street.
Street, street, street, street, keep it too street.
-Street.
-Where I come from you better keep your -two, two, three. -Three.
Youngin go dumb, he'll smoke your ass, he seventeen.
-Seventeen. -He got a switch on his Glock 17.
Wow.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Yeah. Yeah.
Yeah. Yeah.
Talkin' 'bout, well shit, I really got in that shit when I was about thirteen.
But shit, when I just knew it was just completely over with by the time I hit seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen