More songs by Scorcher
More songs by Jme
Description
Somewhere between interviews, street noise and internal monologues, a whole life unfolds. It seems like an ordinary conversation - who knows whom, who won, who ‘dropped out’ - but between the lines you can sense the fatigue from endless parties, ostentatious success and other people's noise. There is no boasting here - just a summing up, without pathos, but with the confidence of someone who has seen it all. The sound is harsh, almost documentary-like: as if a tape recorder had been turned on backstage and accidentally caught a moment of truth.
Somewhere nearby is the stage, the spotlights, the awards and the big names. But that's not the focus. Everything important happens in the silence after the ovation, when all that remains is the beat, honesty and the one who writes, because there is no other way.
Lyrics and translation
Original
You know what I'm saying, man?
Sky, yeah.
Know what I'm saying, man.
Look,
I ain't got no more parties. I ain't tryna learn no new dances.
I'm pointing at work, I ain't chat about clothes in a basket.
I might have to ask bro where the marks is. I ain't selling my soul or my masters.
I'll buy you when I put bro in a casket. I know man them's guiding on artists.
You should've known, don't go to their afters.
Silly youths dying to rave, cah they don't know they can die in a rave. Now I'm getting on, man's trying to change.
Wherever Buck you, I'm at, flying to rave. On a D low ting, I ain't tryna make waves.
I'm tryna be an actor, I'm tryna get paid. Seatbelt on, I ain't tryna get.
'Cause if I get bagged, I ain't gonna get days. I'm a repeat offender. Spuds when I greet a member. No love when
I see a pretender. Man can't swing me, I'm mental.
And don't touch me, blood, we ain't that cool. Don't touch me, I don't know you like that.
My last freestyle, they'll know you like that. It's unlimited flows when I get in my bag. It ain't
Thursday and gyal wanna frat right back for me.
Back for me, back for me, back for me. I'll get your mudda dressing in black for me.
You can't chat to my chili or chat to me. My nigga MB made the beat slap for me.
Slap man in real life, no fantasy. It's nothing but real ones and no fans with me.
Man that'll stand up, make a stand for me. I ain't got no stand with me.
Serious.
You're going out to celebrate? Man'll come and same venue to sell at eight.
Conflict of interest, and they're interested in conflict. They can smell a fake.
They're tryna be a millionaire, ski masks. Man will ask you the baitest question.
Answer wrong, P's gone. No fifty-fifty, can't bell a mate.
It's not a party, it's a random public gathering. Like all the mandem up in Clarence.
Heat FM, All Stars, mad ting. At least the respect was mutual. Real recognize real on both sides.
Nowadays, hierarchy out the window. Big pussyhole will try take a man's life.
Them ones when man wanna ride out in your name, but it feels like bullying.
But they wanna avenge that fully and none of them weren't for out there fullying.
You better explain to wifey that she ain't immune with her little rollie.
Have man sitting down with a picky head and a gray jumper like Axel Foley.
Could be inside the rave on the way to the car, or when you put the keys in the door.
Kano told man about slipping, and Wiley showed man about war. So there's no excuse.
Next time you lot are moving loose. In the rave with the juice.
One man up, could be going home in -a boot. -It's not I don't wanna party again.
It's I don't wanna party with them. I disappear and go hard with the pen.
Double back, they ain't laughing again. They don't wanna see me at the gala again.
I don't wanna hear about karma again. There ain't armor for them.
Fully on volts, man charge up again. Man can't love again.
All the funny gatekeeping, it can't run again.
English translation
You know what I'm saying, man?
Sky, yeah.
Know what I'm saying, man.
Look,
I ain't got no more parties. I ain't tryna learn no new dances.
I'm pointing at work, I ain't chat about clothes in a basket.
I might have to ask bro where the marks is. I ain't selling my soul or my masters.
I'll buy you when I put bro in a casket. I know man them's guiding on artists.
You should've known, don't go to their afters.
Silly youths dying to rave, cah they don't know they can die in a rave. Now I'm getting on, man's trying to change.
Wherever Buck you, I'm at, flying to rave. On a D low ting, I ain't tryna make waves.
I'm tryna be an actor, I'm tryna get paid. Seatbelt on, I ain't tryna get.
'Cause if I get bagged, I ain't gonna get days. I'm a repeat offender. Spuds when I greet a member. No love when
I see a pretender. Man can't swing me, I'm mental.
And don't touch me, blood, we ain't that cool. Don't touch me, I don't know you like that.
My last freestyle, they'll know you like that. It's unlimited flows when I get in my bag. It ain't
Thursday and gyal wanna frat right back for me.
Back for me, back for me, back for me. I'll get your mudda dressing in black for me.
You can't chat to my chili or chat to me. My nigga MB made the beat slap for me.
Slap man in real life, no fantasy. It's nothing but real ones and no fans with me.
Man that'll stand up, make a stand for me. I ain't got no stand with me.
Serious.
You're going out to celebrate? Man'll come and same venue to sell at eight.
Conflict of interest, and they're interested in conflict. They can smell a fake.
They're tryna be a millionaire, ski masks. Man will ask you the baitest question.
Answer wrong, P's gone. No fifty-fifty, can't bell a mate.
It's not a party, it's a random public gathering. Like all the mandem up in Clarence.
Heat FM, All Stars, mad ting. At least the respect was mutual. Real recognize real on both sides.
Nowadays, hierarchy out the window. Big pussyhole will try take a man's life.
Them ones when man wanna ride out in your name, but it feels like bullying.
But they wanna avenge that fully and none of them weren't for out there fullying.
You better explain to wifey that she ain't immune with her little rollie.
Have man sitting down with a picky head and a gray jumper like Axel Foley.
Could be inside the rave on the way to the car, or when you put the keys in the door.
Kano told man about slipping, and Wiley showed man about war. So there's no excuse.
Next time you lot are moving loose. In the rave with the juice.
One man up, could be going home in -a boot. -It's not I don't wanna party again.
It's I don't wanna party with them. I disappear and go hard with the pen.
Double back, they ain't laughing again. They don't wanna see me at the gala again.
I don't wanna hear about karma again. There ain't armor for them.
Fully on volts, man charge up again. Man can't love again.
All the funny gatekeeping, it can't run again.