Brodha V – Underrated Lyrics In English (Translation)

I put up with bullies in life and the music biz, man I’ve been on my own
A product of struggle that ain’t inauthentic, my glory is written in stone
Independent from the start we were given birth in the trenches
But we can go at it again and again, we be well versed in offences

Been in the frontlines as a kid
You got ’em sunshines and ’em gifts
Like my knuckle covered in your powdered up snots, my punchlines never miss
(No they never miss)

I used to pull up to scuffles with no muscle, just the skinniest arms
I was a lone wolf, now my city be packing, they bringing the arms
I just deliver bangers like playlists full of grenade explosions
Been more relevant than ninety percent of y’all with no paid promotions

I’ve been efficient as hell
I’m in a position to tell
That y’all have been making more albums
Than the number of tickets you sell

Your jar got too many hands
You couldn’t recoup the advance
I kept my soul and my equity Going direct, from the booth to fans

I’m calling the industry out, you suckers are leeches with Dracula jaws
Ate legs off of all their careers, my pen been dripping tarantula sauce
You ain’t running shit by gatekeeping, now who’s blackballing who
You ain’t armed enough to outbox the truth
You couldn’t run a nose with a common flu

It’s secret wars when I doom these MFs, sweep the floor with their planted hype
I’m a demon lord with the verse, haunt you through Ouija boards in the afterlife
Got more lyrics than their whole catalogue in a single test of my cheek swab
Nah, everybody feeling like they GOATs, tell ’em I’m running the meat shop

PODA MYRE
You ain’t jack
You ain’t sht
You get smacked
Suck a Dck

PODA MYRE
You make trash
I make hits
Run it back
Run it back

PODA MYRE
You ain’t jack, you ain’t sht You get smacked, suck a dck
You make trash, I make hits Run it back

PODA MYRE
You ain’t jack, you ain’t sht You get smacked, suck a dck
You make trash, I make hits Run it back

PODA MYRE

Look he brew up these bars with the juice like it’s Tel Aviv
The truth is bitter and I season it with fenugreek
Like a threesome with Armas and Sweeney
I’m dumb hot, jellyfish in saunas with beanies

Take the G out, and all they got is Oatmeal
Hit you with a broken fridge and come at you with no chill
Y’all are snakes and I’m out I don’t need friends
Been shallow, you can all drown in the deep end

Your ego big, but your d*ck like a grain of sand
Got your girl linkin’ up with me like I’m Abraham
Hit you where it hurts, neuter your jewels now
Balls bluer than Navi’s in pools full of curacao

I’m just immature chasing a cheque
But I don’t rent designer wears to be faking my flex
Your whole persona is a scam that put your labels in debt
With no rollover profits you can take to the bed

I can drown you on a beat I can clown you in the streets
I bring the new balance, to ground you on your feet
Oh you married to the game huh? Bitch you a Manglik
You wouldn’t be a legend with Will Smith in a zombie flick

Mess with the the money, we’re teeth and knife
Like a Malayali diet, we got beef for life
Nah, I don’t know if you can take it with grace
But this is me saying I don’t fucking like you to your face

PODA MYRE
PODA MYRE
PODA MYRE
PODA MYRE

You ain’t jack, you ain’t sht You get smacked, suck a dck
You make trash, I make hits Run it back.