Оригинални текстови
италијански
Превод
енглески
Mortale
Mortal
I smile in public, I shield myself from what I've inside
Give me the brain, I switch it off
She's beautiful without the lipstick
Two hundred dreams, never bought a drawer1
I'm, I'm getting old
The worries I have, I'll get more later
Now I don't care about anything, I'm in my mood
You go to the studio, just noise comes out
I rap on the beat, I feel nothing
Like when 3D spins seven of them
When I rap on the mic, it's a shooting gallery
I end another CD, sign a check
They ask where the trick is, cold nights
Who do you want to fool? I don't stop
I think about bad things and I punch the boxing bag
I suffer for everything, I write a lyric, it's dope, ok
I rap well, I don't get bored
I hear a thousand things, in my tracks I don't talk only about my wallet
Easy money are an hustle, wake up
You know who I am already, I pursue a mission
I seek a vision out of these schemes
I wonder what is the point of what I achieve
I always learn more from the things I loose
I said stop to so much bullshit
Locked up with some people that should be killed
When at school, looking out of the window
Disappointing my mother, hating my father
Scars, paranoia got worse
I loved women that were spoiled cunts
Steps forward, but you get back to what you were
Sometimes I'm not as strong as you think
I can't open doors, I keep inside
The evil I have, I bring it everywhere
To touch the chords of those who suffer
You must touch the bottom where it's darker
I try to move on, lengthen this run
Overtake death, avoid its grip
I could step aside, stand at my place
Pretend to be great and do the opposite
To live of art, to ignore its cost
Between the traumas I have
That don't get erased by the stuff I wear
It doesn't damage me the drug I take
Not more rather than keeping me safe
New CD, still classics
Who listens to me and wants to get killed
Bro, Kill Bill, five steps and you're dead
Where do you collect these money? C'mon
You smoke gas, you blow up
Only good meals in my house
Zero parsimony, I bring the bread, raise the chorus
It's the procedure, you play, listen to me and then tone it down
I write twenty-three new rhymes (Wow)
They say: "Nayt, where he goes, he kills it", bud I don't have the body of Bud Spencer
The flow catches you, slaps you
You rap, it seems a track of Baustelle (You wish)
3D on the beat, I must admit you're not worthy
The ceiling collapses, the club's roof
You make it to the chart and suck anyway
Rap is no more fashionable, thank God
I hope it was worthy, I was fighting not to end up alone
When I look back to all the shit, I think "I don't want to die sober"
One day I'd like to give up, work off this hate
Try to be good, to share gold
Not to burn ten rolling papers per hour
This stuff doesn't complete me anymore
I said stop to so much bullshit
Locked up with some people that should be killed
When at school, looking out of the window
Disappointing my mother, hating my father
Scars, paranoia got worse
I loved women that were spoiled cunts
Steps forward, but you get back to what you were
Sometimes I'm not as strong as you think
I can't open doors, I keep inside
The evil I have, I bring it everywhere
To touch the chords of those who suffer
You must touch the bottom where it's darker
I try to move on, lengthen this run
Overtake death, avoid its grip, uh-uh-uh
- 1. In Italian, the expression "to have a dream in the drawer" is equivalent to the English "to have a secret dream".
Song details
Translation details
Ser_Flakky
submitted on 8 јун 2022 - 23:54
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