Paroles et traduction Co'Sang - Che Me Dice

Che Me Dice

"WAGLIO CHE ME RIC?" "E NIENT OMM BE, STANN CERT FALLIT RA VECCHIA SCOL CA C VUONN RA NGUOLL" "OVER?"
"E CERT AT SCEM"
E CHI SO? "CA RICN ESSR A NEW SCHOOL"
"PERò PURIELL M FA PENA O SSAJ? EH FRATE N S VONN POP RASSEGNA NU VUONN CAPI CA NU SO CUMM A NUJ E NU SO MAI RIUSCIT A METTR APL NCOPP A MAPP" "NUJ CE L′AMM FATT E NISCIUN C'A REGALAT NIENT"
LUCHé
I traum e l′infanzia e vot ca desidero a morte fann pnza c'a felicità sta nu chilometr cchiu annanz,
Int'a na strada chin e traffic e sustanz,
Mal e panza e ambulanza addo o journ è nu cont alla rovescia: nasc a mezzanotte e frnisc a matina,
Na clessidra e cucain addo s campa senza guida e senza fantasia,
E a routine è l′esclusion re zon aro nu putimm ij,
Ma è tropp l′odj mmiez a vi cummannat a nu libr,
Era assai megl e primm quann zumbavam ra gioia ncopp e materass abbandunat,
Fumann filtr e a birr apparav o rlor,
Aspettann a lun diventà sol, e mo sento storie e leggende urbane e chi spara sott e sott a doj man,
E machin co 90 ann e carcer arint,
A voglia e o bisogn e fa capi ca nu so bucie,
Ca ogni notte na pistol esplod e n'anim evapr, k′e cap cavr e cor fridd, pront a muri, addventann nu mit
RIT
Che me ric? pericol, ferit, che me ric? pozz essr felic int'a n′uffic?
Ma qual! amm scialà e gran galà k'e scarp e vrnic, verimmc cchiu for zon, ancor n′c'è prmiss
NTò
Ammoniaca cu l'oppio int′e mulinex,
O calcar appil e rubinett, Ademars Piguett movimento tourbillon,
O pigl loc vint bigliett viol, e tentacol ra piovr p sagli o fondal,
Val cchiu e frni int′a nu frontal,
Poem in idiom meridional,
P l'idiot e mediocr, ma spec p chi s′identific int'o significat,
Ten o fect abbuffat e sti ficat,
A fedin penal regal stupefacent a culonna fecal sull faccend personal,
Semp cchiu chiar int′o cannokkial,
S so akkukkiat crew cont e nuj pcche mankn e contenut,
E po arrankn a fa n'affar,
Che c vuo fa fra simm nfam!
A ricerc ro gerg è a ricett
E ogni concert è n incendj gaiol e cement,
Cardill mariol e sement addrizzn avversità,
Sciut a cca stess indirizz,
Ma tourne pe tutt e città
"Oh OH, oh O SSAJ A CHI S ANN PURTAT?" "O SSAJ CA M′è LASSAT A WAGLIONA?" "E QUANN MAI! E PCCHE?" "DIC CA RIC TROPP PAROL" "E VABBUO SO ARROGANT TEN'N NU CARATTER E MERD... FRA MA K TEN A VRE? LORO SO COMM E SORD, VANN E VEN'N"

What Are You Telling Me?

"Girl, what are you telling me?" "Nothing, babe, there are some old school failures who want to criticize."
"Really?"
Who are they? "They claim to be the new school."
"But even they make me feel sorry, you know? These dudes don't want to step aside, they don't understand that we're like no other, and they've never managed to put themselves on the map." "We did it ourselves, nobody gave us anything."
Luchè
Childhood traumas and desires for death make you think that happiness is a kilometer ahead,
On a road full of traffic and substances,
Stomachaches and ambulances, every day is a countdown: born at midnight, ends in the morning,
An hourglass of cocaine, where you live without guidance and without imagination,
And routine is the exclusion from areas we can't reach,
But there's too much hate among you, commanded by a book,
The early days were much better when we were buzzing with joy on abandoned mattresses,
Smoking filterless cigarettes and beer appeared like gold,
Waiting for the moon to become sun, and now I hear stories and urban legends of people shooting underhandedly,
And cars with 90 years of prison inside,
The desire and the need to make it clear that I'm not lying,
That every night a gun goes off and a soul evaporates, goat heads and cold hearts, ready to die, becoming a myth
CHORUS
What are you telling me? Danger, wounds, what are you telling me? Can I be happy in an office?
No way! We've got to party and have a grand gala with shiny shoes, we'll see who's stronger, there's still no permission
NTò
Ammonia with opium in the blender,
The gas pedal down and the faucet open, Ademars Piguet tourbillon movement,
Taking twenty purple tickets, and the tentacles of rain to climb the seabed,
Worth more than the brakes in a head-on collision,
Poems in the southern dialect,
For idiots and mediocrities, but especially for those who identify with the meaning,
Hold the effect, stuffed with these figs,
The criminal stench gives away drugs to the fecal column on personal matters,
Simply clearer through the telescope,
Crews have squatted with us because they lack content,
And then they start making a fuss,
What can you do, bro, we're infamous!
The search for slang is the recipe
And every concert is a prison fire of cells and cement,
Rogues and seeds straighten adversity,
Go out to this same address,
But tour all the cities
"Oh OH, oh YOU KNOW WHO THEY BROUGHT?" "YOU KNOW THAT GIRL I LEFT?" "WHEN? WHY?" "SHE SAYS I TALK TOO MUCH" "WELL, I AM ARROGANT, I HAVE A SHITTY CHARACTER... BRO, BUT WHAT DOES IT MATTER? THEY ARE LIKE THE DEAF, THEY COME AND GO"