Lyrics and translation Cheloo - Fabricant De Gunoi

Fabricant De Gunoi

Vers 1:
Sunt un fabricant de gunoi cu idei noi
Actinez ca un porc cand sunt inconjurat de boi
Tin bani furati langa ciorapi murdari la banca
Sparg bani murdari si nu credam ca
Cant mai bine rap decat f**e Michel copii
Si pot sarbatori un esec de proportii
As trai 1000 de ani in p**a mea tot n-ar ajunge
Si ma unflu-n burta cand cureaua ma strange
Esti rupta de munca sau rupta-n supapa
Mi-a iesit o branhie-n p**a vino sa respiri sub apa
Iti crapa obrazul si m-asculti cu geamu-nchis
Ai tensiune de mort o sa te duc in paradis
Te lingi pe faloane cand lansez tromboane
Ca o curva de centura iradiata de foame
Suntem telepatici ma doare-n p**a cand te doare-n gat
Iar ce cant cand cant e chiar urat
Refren (x2):
Sunt un fabricant de gunoi cu idei noi

In putinele momente de luciditate
Ma gandesc ca-i ideal sa n-ai utilitate
Vers 2:
Visez ca dau la b**i in sunet de orga
Trezeste-te-n mortii tai fa suntem la morga
Ma sugeai de p**a yo ma gandeam la alta
Am intrat in camion cand am evitata balta
Lumina asta alba de kkt nu-mi place
Asa ca stai in p**a mea aici odihneste-te-n pace
Eu ies pe strazi din nou mrahmur
Am gandu' necurat si chilotu' intarit pe c*r
Ma jur pe lumina ochilor tai sticlosi
Ca nimeni nu ma cunoaste nici tu nu ma cunosti
Psihicul meu instapil in fapt e ciorba
Ma face sa ma tin zile-ntregi de vorba
Va urasc sa va ragaie popa la cap
Sa va lase nevestele pe spate urme de slap
Inca incap in pielea mea e editie limitata
Ca gunoiul meu muzical e treaba curata
Refren (x2)Thanks to thudord

Trash Manufacturer

Verse 1:
I am a manufacturer of garbage with new ideas
I act like a pig when I am surrounded by oxen
I keep stolen money with dirty socks in the bank
I waste dirty money and I don't think
I can rap better than Michel f**ks kids
And I can celebrate a failure of proportions
I would live 1000 years in my p**sy and it would not be enough
And I get a belly ache when my belt is tight
You are broken from work or you are broken in the valve
I got a gill in my p**sy, come and breathe under water
Your face is cracked and you listen to me with the window closed
Your tension is dead; I will take you to paradise
You lick yourself on your cocks when I launch trombones
Like a sidewalk whore irradiated by hunger
We are telepathic; I don't give a f**k when your throat hurts
And what I sing when I sing is really ugly
Chorus (x2):
I am a trash manufacturer with new ideas

In the little moments of lucidity
I think it's ideal to have no usefulness
Verse 2:
I dream that I take a bath to the sound of an organ
Wake up, you dead person, we are at the morgue
You were sucking my p**sy, yo, I was thinking about someone else
I got in the truck when I avoided the puddle
This white, shitty light I do not like
So stay in my p**sy here, rest in peace
I go out on the streets again, marble
I have an unclean thought and my panties hardened on my c*nt
I swear by the light of your glassy eyes
That nobody knows me, not even you know me
My psychic is unstable; in fact, it's soup
Makes me talk to myself for days
I hate you guys to make the priest belch at your head
To let your wives leave slap marks on your back
I still fit in my skin, it's a limited edition
Like my musical garbage, it's neat
Chorus (x2)