Paroles et traduction Co'Sang feat. Lucariello - 'O spuorco

'O spuorco

Fu n'attim e uaglion attuorn
Gess bianc n'terr e l'uocchij mai chius
Guard confus e vis nfus e l'uommene
Ancor no sapev quant è dens o sang p'nnanz
N'terr e pier e chi er viv aier
Mo chier sul acqua sant comm piogg p sti ser
Nda l'arij o nomm alluccat
Affollat e balcun re vocc chiene
Vir sti prievt fier ra messa nov
Addo è permess parlà e scol comm foss na parol e salvezz
Ij song n'ossess e spiss nun song ij
Appriess e sbaglij astip e fras p' fa crur e pur e figlij mij
A presenz ro stat è spugliat comm a st'alber sfunnat e cavr
Primm s lavn e po pavn e po restn e primm che rispost pa
Mort e penn scrivn tutt chell che pe lengue è assai fort
O iuoc è spuorc e po o'sapon sap buon che scorr for
E rint ancor gelosij unit a invidij.
Lucariello: Rit.
O' spuorc e tutt e iuorn ij o chiamm o putrid
Chi è pur sur e sput, chi nu salut è pcchè nun è mai carut
E nuij che figlij mbracc astrignut e che bracc tignut
Guardamm a rind all'uocchij e chi nun s'illud
Si astrign o fierr nu vai n'terr, nisciun c'ha mai crerut
Marianell simm crisciut
E zingr n'hann mai rerut
Fann e milizij p mantener e vizij
E sold a llor
E pietr prezios pe z'zzos anzios che dicen: ancor!
Pe chest n'atu pate mor
S fa viern rind e cas e bell e buon
O suon re disc, o sient o vient sischij arind e rient?
Pe dint a ll'uocchhij e guard arind e vir nient
Prettament chi ce sent riegn e tribunal
Ben o mal viv vit normal
Condizionat a na condizional cur poc e mod e dorm cu una nov
Proprij comm a chi è gentil e rir e mov e fil
Ij scriv o schif e si nu capisc po m cumpiatisc
Tu ca nun si nisciun, ca nu t scit, ca nu vir
Pann pulit ngopp a carn sporc
O contraffatt contr a ll'art pur
E finchè a mort nun m cocc ij parl e pens crur
Luchè: Rit.
O' spuorc e tutt e iuorn ij o chiamm o putrid
Chi è pur sur e sput, chi nu salut è pcchè nun è mai carut
E nuij che figlij mbracc astrignut e ce bracc dignut
Guardamm a rind all'uocchij e chi nun s'illud
Cuorp spuorc e anim brillant comm a luce e nu diamant
Quant e lor chin d'or comm e sant se lavn e mman Co'Sang e ancor
Piezz e me rind a ll'uocchij e chi m'è nemic
Chill che mene'n na vita nterr sott o fuoc spuorc da vocc do fierr
Pierdt e scuordt e sta lot
Iuoc a mille, pigl'l mman stu mmal
Figlij e puttan ca si ioc'n' ogni iuorn o riman
Illus ra luce sporc ro sol ngopp a lam
Amor comm a' rragg,
Ij tagg vist nfacc e si l'annascunn, stu spuorc esc ancor chiù for
Comm a na malatij ca quann pigl fa saglì
Ngopp o' rulor
S mor e s nasce, hashish rind è mman e sti uagliun
Che guardann o'mar annanz a lun
Cercn o 'ppulit rint a ll'uocchij doc' e na criatur
E mo chiur cu nu penzier sta strof:
P chi ha iucat spuorc e manc aropp muort arrepos...
Ntò: Rit.
O' spuorc e tutt e iuorn ij o chiamm o putrid
Chi è pur sur e sput, chi nu salut è pcchè nun è mai carut
E nuij che figlij mbracc astrignut e ce bracc dignut
Guardamm a rind all'uocchij e chi nun s'illud

The Dirt

It was a moment, and the kids around
White chalk on the ground and eyes never closed
Confused looks and blurred visions, and the men
Didn't yet know how thick the blood is beforehand
On the ground, stones, and those who were alive yesterday
Now seek only holy water like rain for these evenings
From the balconies, the name shouted
Crowded balconies and mouths full of words
See these proud priests from the new mass
Where it's allowed to speak and listen as if it were a word of salvation
I am obsessed and often it's not me
Behind mistakes, I gather phrases to make my children's hearts pure
The state's presence is stripped like these hollowed-out trees
First they wash, then they pave, then they stay, and before the bread answers
Death and pens write everything that's too strong for tongues
The game is dirty, and then the soap smells good as it flows away
And inside, still jealousies united with envies.
Lucariello: Chorus
The dirt, every day I call it putrid
Those who are pure spit on it, those who don't greet because they're never kind
And we, with children held tight in our arms, arms held high
Look into our eyes, and don't be fooled
If you squeeze iron, you don't go to the ground, no one ever believed
Marianell, we grew up
And the gypsies never laughed at us
They make up militias to maintain their vices
And money for them
And precious stones for anxious ladies who say: more!
For this another father dies
Winter is made inside the houses of the beautiful and good
The sound of records, do you hear the wind whistling inside the cracks?
Look inside the eyes and see nothing
Precisely those who hear reign and judge
Good or bad, live a normal life
Conditioned to a conditional cure with little style and sleep with someone new
Just like those who are kind and laugh and move the thread
I write the disgust, and if you don't understand, then pity me
You who are nobody, who doesn't know, who doesn't see
Clean cloth on dirty flesh
The counterfeit against pure art
And until death takes me, I speak and think raw
Luchè: Chorus
The dirt, every day I call it putrid
Those who are pure spit on it, those who don't greet because they're never kind
And we, with children held tight in our arms, arms held high
Look into our eyes, and don't be fooled
Dirty bodies and souls shining like the light of a diamond
While those full of gold like saints wash their hands with Co'Sang, and again
Pieces of me in the eyes of those who are my enemies
Those who lead an underground life under the dirty fire of the iron's mouth
Lost and forgotten in this fight
I play a thousand, take this evil in your hands
Children of whores who play every day or stay
Illusions of the dirty light of the sun on the blade
Love like a ray,
I cut faces, and if they hide them, this dirt comes out even stronger
Like a disease that when it takes you, it makes you climb
On the roller
One dies and is born, hashish in the hands of these boys
Who watch the sea before the moon
They seek the clean in the sweet eyes of a creature
And now, hearts with a thought, this verse:
For those who played dirty and even after death have no rest...
Ntò: Chorus
The dirt, every day I call it putrid
Those who are pure spit on it, those who don't greet because they're never kind
And we, with children held tight in our arms, arms held high
Look into our eyes, and don't be fooled