Paroles et traduction Glaukoma feat. Stepi Selektah - Not Paradise

Not Paradise

Esaldi bakoitzaren atzean zenbat pena friend?
Zenbat garaipen? Zenbat aldarrikapen? Zenbat frakaso?
Bizitzan lez, fresko eta sarkor
Izan nahi badek, sektore hontan eman eta jaso.
Arbaso zaharren ohitura batzuk mantenduz,
Minari garrantzia kenduz,
Hustutzen dizkiagu makina baso.
Itsaso bat zerbezak gauetan laguntzen du,
Beti kontzertuz kontzertu heldutasunari eraso.

Mina ematen du, pozoia begietara.
Aitzakiarik okerrena funtsa mozkortzea bada,
Ez da ez zure farlopa, ez nire kopa beharra,
Okerrena da San Juan desfile militarra.
Arbaso zaharren ohitura batzuk baztertuz,
Tentuz, ez dut hau aurkeztu zure eztula eragiteko.
Ez da min ematearren, baino eske friend
Nik ez det eskopeta bat behar juerga botatzeko.
Ezker, eskubi! Left, right! Tximuen antzeko.
Ez da martxa militarrik ni ohetik jaikitzeko.
Hi, eskopetero, entzuten ari haizenez gero:
Guk hire San Juan eguna botatzen diagu larunbatero.

We are not in paradise, eta izarrak ez dira ikusten.
Original Stepi playing for the youths them.
Hautsak harrotuz eta polemika biluzten,
Moskun ohitura txarrei ez zaie tokirik uzten.

Ez dala fala, danak gabiltzala
Bakoitzak ahal duen ahala.
Kapitalaren egurrak plastikozko ezpala.
Aukeratu badaezpada Yaveh edo Alá
Eta goikoak salba zaitzala.

Ez da broma. Karkomak jota,
Lotan, koman zentzu ona.
Gerra eta gosea itsutasun sintomak:
Garden ikusten uzten ez duen Glaukoma.

Them tell you what to think,
Them tell you what to say,
Them tell you what to drink,
Them tell you what to pray.
Dancehall in my town for the young thinking ways,
You won't stop the riddim, selektahri egin dei!

We are not in paradise... x2

This is Babylon: "Jainkoa eta Lege Zaharra".
Too much kontraesan, too much aitzakiadun farra.
Txikitu musikaz tradizioaren hatzaparrak.
Big up! Big up! Moskutik Tolosara!

Bala bat gordeta daukat puritanismoarentzako.
Kabala ba haiz ez ezak bilatu,
Hemen mezurik ez dago.
Errima berri bat erditzera gatoz
Klitxeetatik haratago.
Ez gangstak, ez rastak, esano ozenago!

Bala bi gordeta zuri: aurreiritzidun ultrari.
Guri berdin zure herria,
Ez diogu begiratzen jatorriari.
Mundu honetan ardi beltzak,
Zuk bezala, esnea txuri.
Downpressor man, get out of my country!

We are not in paradise... x2

Not Paradise

How much pain is behind each phrase, friend?
How many victories? How many proclamations? How many failures?
In life, like fresh and rough
If you want to be, give and take in this sector.
Maintaining some of the customs of our ancestors,
Putting less importance on pain,
We're clearing the machine forest.
A sea of beers helps at night,
Always attacking maturity from concert to concert.

The pain hurts, poison in the eyes.
If the worst excuse is cutting the funds,
It's not your dope or my drink that's needed,
The worst is the military parade of the San Juan festival.
Putting aside some of the customs of our ancestors,
Be careful, I don't present this to provoke your cough.
It's not to hurt you, but please friend
I don't need a shotgun to have fun.
Left, right! Left, right! Like monkeys.
No military march will get me out of bed.
You shooter, since you're listening:
We throw our San Juan day party every Saturday.

We are not in paradise, and the stars are not visible.
Original Stepi playing for the youths them.
Raising dust and exposing the controversy,
In Moscow there is no room for bad habits.

Don't talk nonsense, we're all in it
Each one of us as best as we can.
The wood of capital, the plastic sword.
Choose Yaveh or Allah if you must
And may the heavens save you.

It's no joke. Hit by hangovers,
Asleep, knocked out of common sense.
War and hunger, symptoms of blindness:
Glaucoma that doesn't let you see clearly.

Them tell you what to think,
Them tell you what to say,
Them tell you what to drink,
Them tell you what to pray.
Dancehall in my town for the young thinking ways,
You won't stop the riddim, call the selektah!

We are not in paradise... x2

This is Babylon: "God and the old rules".
Too much contradiction, too much partying with excuses.
Break the clutches of tradition with music.
Big up! Big up! From Moscow to Tolosa!

I've got a bullet hidden for puritanism.
If you're a Kabala, don't come looking for it,
There's no measure here.
We're coming to give birth to a new rhyme
Beyond the clichés.
Not gangstas, not rastas, say it louder!

Bullet two hidden for you: prejudiced ultra.
Your country is the same to us,
We don't look at its origin.
In this world black sheep,
Like you, milk white.
Downpressor man, get out of my country!

We are not in paradise... x2