Paroles et traduction Kandžija & Gole Žene - Mali Mržnja

Mali Mržnja

Skuplja stare boce, jedva ceka da mu dan prodje.
Nema ratne penzije, jedva skupi za režije.
Pun agresije, pogled mu bijesan je,
I s njim ih ubija sve jer zapravo zna da ne smije.
Najveći je skeptik, ne smije gledati dnevnik
Jer ispada slavonski konj ko Dario Plevnik.
Vidi da sve je farsa i da još uvijek traje.
Rat je glupost, nikako da prestane, idemo dalje.
Čuje glasove al ne da glasove za prazne parole.
Ne voli nikog, kamoli lopove, gotovo je.
Opet iz iste boce pijemo iste šljive.
Opet dijelimo iste oblake i to sive.
Opet iste pjesme ko da ništa bilo nije.
Isti razlog iza svega, opet se krije.
Nema drukčije, svi od iste ekonomije žive.
Pola prijatelja nema, ostatku se isto ne smije.
I mrzi sve, dođe mu da sebe i sve ubije.
Ne znam kako je, al kontam nije lako pa razumijem.
Najviše mrači, a mrače svi
Da ga vidiš ima sina, isti tata, pravi sin.
Već je narasto godine su mu 22.
Sve je s koljena na koljeno on se isto ne smije.

Vidi ga što je lijep, isti ćaća, ista mržnja,
Isti osmijeh, ista usta, iste stvari, isti stari,
Vidi ga što je pravi, evo ga mali.

Pička ti materina stalno psuješ i po svima pljuješ.
To je na mater a mater u sobi i sve čuje.
Zna da stari nije u pravu ali šta je tu je,
Ni on njega isto ne voli al opet stari mu je.
Nasljedio je nešto što ne može popit ni prokockat.
Utakmica je prošla, njemu majica je kockasta.
Ili je u crnom uklapa se s ruljom.
Ide na koncerte od puške viče ubij pleme svako drugo,
Skroz dok mu ne pukne glas i ode grlo.
Ni on ne zna ustvari ko su ti svi al tako je čuo.
I on je ko stari, isto sve bi dao
Al i njemu ko i starom kao da je život stao.
Njega muči prošlost, al ne njegova nego tuđa,
Svoju još ni nema, automatski mu je užas.
I mrzi sve, mrzi ljude, mrzi crnce
Njih nema, mrzi sve, mrzi pse, mrzi sunce.
Mrzi susjede, mrzi susjedovu decu
što se igraju i trče, ispred kuće, svi ga muče.
Mrzi luster, mrzi šakom razbijena vrata,
Mrzi mamu, tatu, brata, ko što sebe mrzi tata.
Mrzi to što je iz blata, mrzi to što nema rata.
To što je prošlo već 15 godina.
Mrzi to što dok god je živ, dok god je živ
Niko ga neće prestati spominjat.
Mrzi to što sve više liči na starog.
Možda mrzi da mu vrati jer mrzi čak i kada nema razlog.
Isto mrzi budućnost, jer misli da je nema.
Isto bez posla, štela, sve poput njega,
Sve zbog njega i ne zna šta da radi.
Da l da opljačka banku ili učlani se u stranku,
Ili i dalje samo sluša domoljubne pjesme i cajku,
I svima redom, svima jebe majku.

Vidi ga što je lijep, isti ćaća, ista mržnja,
Isti osmijeh, ista usta, iste stvari, isti stari,
Vidi ga što je pravi, evo ga mali.

Opet je išao slušat pušku njega cijeni jako puno.
Na jednom takvom skupu se čak upoznao s curom.
Ona ima plavu kosu, vozi crveni jugo.
Kaže malo je preozbiljan al s njim osjeća sigurnost.
Naravi je tihe i plahe nalik njegovoj mami.
Al valjda ju neće mučit ko što je staru mučio stari.
Isto je odrasla u obitelji seljačkoj.
Isto voli svoju zemlju a sve bi dala da su u Njemačkoj.
A kum kaže ne valja ni tamo, ne šalje ni čokolade.
Pa bolje će sjedit pit kave, i ovako nema nade.
Ostavljeni usred rupe zadnje, u krug mrze sebe same.
Sve više slabe, ne znaju šta rade,
Al ima nešto što im ne brane pa djecu prave.
Prošlo je par mjeseci, ona je trudna.
Dobit će sina, zvat će se Mali mržnja.

Little Hate

He collects old bottles, barely waiting for the day to end.
He has no war pension, barely enough for the bills.
Full of aggression, his look is furious,
And with it, he kills them all because he knows he actually shouldn't.
He's the biggest skeptic, he can't watch the news
Because he turns into a Slavonian horse like Dario Plevnik.
He sees that everything is a farce and that it still goes on.
War is stupidity, it never ends, let's move on.
He hears voices but doesn't vote for empty slogans.
He doesn't like anyone, let alone thieves, it's over.
Again from the same bottle we drink the same plums.
Again we share the same clouds, and they're grey.
Again the same songs as if nothing had happened.
The same reason behind it all, hiding again.
There's no other way, everyone lives from the same economy.
Half of his friends are gone, he can't talk to the rest.
And he hates everything, he feels like killing himself and everything else.
I don't know how it is, but I guess it's not easy, so I understand.
He mostly frowns, and everyone frowns
If you saw him, he has a son, same as his dad, a real son.
He's already grown up, he's 22.
Everything's passed down from generation to generation, he's not allowed to laugh either.

Look at him, how handsome he is, same as his dad, same hate,
Same smile, same mouth, same things, same old,
Look how real he is, here's the little one.

Fuck your mother, you constantly curse and spit on everyone.
That's on his mother, and his mother is in the room and hears everything.
He knows that the old man is wrong, but what's he gonna do, he's there,
He doesn't love him either, but he's still his father.
He inherited something he can't drink or gamble away.
The match is over, he has a checkered shirt on.
Or he's in black, blends in with the crowd.
He goes to concerts, yells from his gun, kill every other tribe,
Completely, until his voice breaks and his throat is gone.
He doesn't know who all those people are either, but that's what he heard.
He's like his father, he would give it all away too,
But for him, like his father, it's as if life has stopped.
He's tortured by the past, but not his own, but someone else's,
He doesn't have his own yet, it's automatically a horror for him.
And he hates everything, hates people, hates blacks
There are none of them, he hates everything, hates dogs, hates the sun.
He hates his neighbors, hates his neighbor's kids
That play and run, in front of the house, they all torture him.
He hates the chandelier, hates the fist-shattered door,
He hates his mom, dad, brother, like his dad hates himself.
He hates that he's from the mud, hates that there's no war.
That it's been 15 years.
He hates that as long as he lives, as long as he lives
No one will stop mentioning him.
He hates that he looks more and more like his father.
Maybe he hates to return it to him because he hates even when there's no reason.
He also hates the future because he thinks there is none.
Same no job, connections, everything like him,
Everything because of him and he doesn't know what to do.
Whether to rob a bank or join a party,
Or just keep listening to patriotic songs and tea,
And to everyone in turn, he fucks their mothers.

Look at him, how handsome he is, same as his dad, same hate,
Same smile, same mouth, same things, same old,
Look how real he is, here's the little one.

He went to listen to Puška again, he respects him a lot.
He even met a girl at one such gathering.
She has blonde hair, drives a red Yugo.
She says he's a little too serious, but she feels safe with him.
She has a quiet and timid nature, similar to his mother.
But hopefully he won't torture her like his father tortured his mother.
She also grew up in a peasant family.
She also loves her country, but she would give anything to be in Germany.
And the godfather says it's no good there either, he doesn't even send chocolate.
So it's better to sit and drink coffee, there's no hope anyway.
Left in the middle of nowhere, they hate themselves in a circle.
They are getting weaker and weaker, they don't know what they're doing,
But there's something they're not forbidden to do, so they make children.
A couple of months have passed, she's pregnant.
She's going to have a son, his name will be Little Hate.