Good Fumes - Qusai

Yo, live from the West Side is one

Under the sun

Representin' J-Town to the fullest

Raps are bullets

You see them haters, they be duckin'

When Legend be buckin'

Up in the kitchen tuckin'

On the table, got my own label

JL official Gods willin' 'cause we stable

I hustle so don’t be hatin' on me 'cause I got my shine

Do your own hip hop and let me do mine

أنا دارس هذا الفن من جذوره لإنه في دمي

ولقبوني بالسفير لإنه الخبرة من عندي ومني

وأنا فاهم إلي حدث, لإنه عندي حدس

وإلي مو فاهم إلي سار و ما يعرف يقول عدس

تبغى تفهم, حاضطر أقلك مالأول

من أول … من أول أول … من أول أول

من أول لازم منه علشان تفهم الأسس

لإنه أيام زمان كانوا يربوا بالتلاليك و المدس

يخاطبني السفيه بكل قبح

فأكره أن أكون له مجيبا

يزيد سفاهة فأزيد حلماً

كعود زاده الإحراق طيبا

Think of every dollar, every cent boy

Think of every drop of blood that’s been paid

Most of these young niggas who were them saying

Television without bowing down to the sensei

Teachers can be found at your front door

Confident but unsure, Steven’s found among y’all

Might show but central

Nothing original found

But when the pin of the sound is harder than the gun drawn

Young Bucks acting like they G’s when thug’s home

So when a blaze without they ain’t shown

They have not the slightest idea, the touch of Midas

Year after years of puttin' in work here

The overnight star takes at least ten years for the wall to breakdown and

cheddar 'round his chairs

And stick to the skin and put the win for the underdog

And swim through the rubble and past these shark fins c’mon

يخاطبني السفيه بكل قبح

فأكره أن أكون له مجيبا

يزيد سفاهة فأزيد حلماً

كعود زاده الإحراق طيبا

Yeah, let the fire burn I’m begging you

'Cause the fumes are contagious some miles ahead of you

People burn what they don’t understand, the man in front of you

With a plan’ll have the nigga the chance to some of you

Rookie had grips (for Miles Davis)

You people can’t bend this and rookies can’t recognize greatness

It’s hard we end up dead, then famous

The manifestation, the dead man bless a dead nation

As I sit back relax with Jeddah on my back

Make sure my bag’s packed so I can hustle these tracks

I can’t depend on my label or my manger

I’ve always been a one man show like The Damaja

الشي إلي بيدفعني ما يحتاجلو تفسير, و حبي الأول و الأخير ما راح أوصفو

الكبير كبير, والنص نص نص نص, والصغير ما نعرفو

يخاطبني السفيه بكل قبح

فأكره أن أكون له مجيبا

يزيد سفاهة فأزيد حلماً

كعود زاده الإحراق طيبا

Don Legend, X:144, Mo Jax

Fredwreck, Beit el Hip Hop, 2009

This is right here is another Saudi Arabian, Egyptian and Palestinian

collaboration for shiggadaz

Yo, live from the West Side is one

Under the sun

Representin' J-Town to the fullest

Raps are bullets

You see them haters, they be duckin'

When Legend be buckin'

Up in the kitchen tukin'

On the table, got my own label

JL official Gods willin' 'cause we are stable

I hustle so don't be hatin' on me cause I got my shine

Do your own hip hop and let me do mine

I study this art from its roots because it is in my blood

They called me the ambassador because the experience is from me and from me

And I understand what happened, because I have a hunch

And whoever doesn't understand, whoever walks and doesn't know says lentils

If you want to understand, I will have to tell you the first thing

From the first... from the first to the first... from the first from the first

From the beginning it is necessary to understand the foundations

Because in the old days they were brought up with tallic and medicine

The fool speaks to me with all ugliness

I hate being his answer

Foolishness increases, so I dream more

As a promise of good burning

Think of every dollar, every cent boy

Think of every drop of blood that's been paid

Most of these young niggas who were saying them

Television without bowing down to the sensei

Teachers can be found at your front door

Confident but unsure, Steven's found among y'all

Might show but central

Nothing original found

But when the pin of the sound is harder than the gun drawn

Young Bucks acting like they G's when thug's home

So when a blaze without they ain't shown

They have not the slightest idea, the touch of Midas

Year after years of puttin' in work here

The overnight star takes at least ten years for the wall to break down and

cheddar round his chairs

And stick to the skin and put the win for the underdog

And swim through the rubble and past these shark fins c'mon

The fool speaks to me with all ugliness

I hate being his answer

Foolishness increases, so I dream more

As a promise of good burning

Yeah, let the fire burn I'm begging you

'Cause the fumes are contagious some miles ahead of you

People burn what they don't understand, the man in front of you

With a plan'll have the nigga the chance to some of you

Rookie had grips (for Miles Davis)

You people can't bend this and rookies can't recognize greatness

It's hard we end up dead, then famous

The manifestation, the dead man bless a dead nation

As I sit back relax with Jeddah on my back

Make sure my bag's packed so I can hustle these tracks

I can't depend on my label or my manager

I've always been a one man show like The Damaja

The thing that drives me needs no explanation, and my first and last love cannot be described

The big one is big, the text is text, text is text, and the small is what we know

The fool speaks to me with all ugliness

I hate being his answer

Foolishness increases, so I dream more

As a promise of good burning

Don Legend, X:144, Mo Jax

Fredwreck, Beit el Hip Hop, 2009

This is right here is another Saudi Arabian, Egyptian and Palestinian

collaboration for shiggadaz