I Ain't Gave Up On You Yet - Propaganda

I Ain't Gave Up On You Yet - Propaganda

Альбом
Crimson Cord
Год
2016
Язык
`English`
Длительность
222770

Below is the lyrics of the song I Ain't Gave Up On You Yet , artist - Propaganda with translation

Lyrics " I Ain't Gave Up On You Yet "

Original text with translation

I Ain't Gave Up On You Yet

Propaganda

Yeah, I met this girl when I was eight years old

What I loved most: she had so much soul

When the 10 and 101 meet, the sight was so breathtaking

Murals the size of buildings, LA River

When you black among eses, gangbanging ain’t an option

But that Krylon aroma made a brother feel alive

And it feel like the Creator made boom-bap just for me only

Radio made the night not so lonely

That’s why I wanna fight when I hear them thug phonies and gangstas

Acting like crack was our savior

And at times I can’t stand you, but stand I must

Love is patient and long-suffering, it’s all in your head

And at times hip-hop makes me very upset

But I ain’t gave up on it yet

And at times America makes me very upset

But I ain’t gave up on it yet

And low-key, my own people make me very upset

But still ain’t gave up on them yet

And at times, my own city make me very upset

But still ain’t gave up on it yet

That family tree’s a groundhog day of ignorance

Juke joints, speakeasys, been on that ratchetness

Granddad ran the numbers, got mama out the hood

DC was so crazy in the 30's, let me tell ya

Uncle Timmy and Alan and Hubbard, they all suffer from

Them typical pitfalls, front like ya’ll ain’t feeling me

Ya’ll know a line of Appalacia Mountain bootleggers

This transcends race;

ya’ll got moonshine coursing through your veins

Don’t cha?

Them is crimes of survival

Tax evasion, white collar, pre-Great Depression

They say New York trying to escape the same thing

It’s life but be patient, boy, it’s all in your head

Little brother, I feel you, Vato drive slow

Vans with no plates, he’s second generation

His tio from Sina Loa smuggling people biz

Collotes in training, bald heads and tattoos

Slanging social security numbers, I’m from the 626

I know it well, down that 1−10

Bye abuelita, green card grandpa still works hard

Only one with good sense, dime a donde vas?

Vaya con Dios mijos tres puntos, calmate homie

Corrale, corrale!

I see it in his ojos

You feel trapped, don’t you?

You feel like «Why me?»

But it’s all in your head

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