Paroles et traduction Lethal V - Hit the Road Wack

Hit the Road Wack

Goditi gli ultimi istanti che hai,
Sei figlio dei rimpianti di 30 anni stand-by,
Sui palchi a suon di incastri quanti babbi pestai,
Give me that mic già dal check disintegro le bad vibes,
Sfidi me sicario come in Breaking Bad Mike,
You may die perciò imprechi e cerchi il break-time,
Se fai il rap perché segui il trand-by
Libero il demone in me come in Devil May Cry.
Si aprono le danze e vai col valzer,
Perdi tempo dietro a donne però mai con classe infondo non
Vorresti donne ma comparse perciò
Vai in bianco 27 volte Michael Myers.
Alle jam groupie rifatte come JWOWW [?] get the fuck out!
Zero props ai clown sto alla hiphop quanto Steve Jobs ai cloud

Fuori c'è troppa gente piena di se,
Concentrata su sfilate di moda e prêt-à-porter, s
E salgo sul palco ho un'arma con me io qui
Non faccio rime io faccio Russian Roulette.
Per la dialettica ho l'indole di un Gourmet,
Cibo per le menti che gridano "s'il vous plaît" questi sbarbati han
La sindrome di Tourette scrivo con un solo obiettivo colmare il gap.
Tick Tack fotti con il Tip Tap man questo è un Trick Track pronti per
Il Click Clack bang cerchi pure dritte per la
Crystal Meth, la tua cricca superchicche con le Beats by Dre

No limiti, lividi convivici brividi toxicity indichi il top imiti
Nitidi flop lirici con miseri show
Simili non mi elimini ho 15 flow mitici
Non dirmi di critici hip hop infimi e viscidi un tot stirpi di
Ominidi di troll brividi phisique du role
Rime delivery bro fidati bro lascio echimosi
E shock fisici no diggity.
Wake up, fanatici del fake rap Hit the Road Wack tipo Ray Charles,
Non mi perdo d'animo quando capito nei club
Sciolgo nell'acido il tuo cuore impavido Brave heart.
Figli dei fiori con i grammi Darlin peace and love,
Mica babbi con i nasi bianchi e i tratti di Pierrot.
Per evitarvi credo basti dire stop,
Ai canta storie per infanti Justin Biberon

Fuori c'è troppa gente piena di se,
Concentrata su sfilate di moda e prêt-à-porter, s
E salgo sul palco ho un'arma con me io qui
Non faccio rime io faccio Russian Roulette.
Per la dialettica ho l'indole di un Gourmet,
Cibo per le menti che gridano "s'il vous plaît" questi sbarbati han
La sindrome di Tourette scrivo con un solo obiettivo colmare il gap.
Tick Tack fotti con il Tip Tap man questo è un Trick Track pronti per
Il Click Clack bang cerchi pure dritte per la
Crystal Meth, la tua cricca superchicche con le Beats by Dre

Hit the Road Wack

Enjoy the last moments you have,
You're the son of 30 years of regrets, stand-by,
On stage, I stomp on fools, I'm a master of the craft,
Give me that mic, right from the check, I disintegrate bad vibes,
You challenge me, a hitman like Mike in Breaking Bad,
You may die, so you curse and look for a break-time,
If you rap just because you follow the trend-by
I release the demon in me like in Devil May Cry.
The dancing begins, and you waltz,
You waste time on women but never with class, you don't really
Want women, just extras, so
You go blank 27 times, Michael Myers.
At the jams, you have fake groupies like JWOWW, get the fuck out!
Zero props to the clowns, I'm in hip-hop as much as Steve Jobs is in the cloud.

There are too many people out there who are full of themselves,
Focused on fashion shows and ready-to-wear, s
And I get on stage, I have a weapon with me, I'm here
I don't make rhymes, I play Russian Roulette.
For the dialectic, I have the nature of a Gourmet,
Food for minds that scream "s'il vous plaît", these beardless ones have
Tourette's syndrome, I write with only one goal, to bridge the gap.
Tick Tack, fuck with the Tip Tap man, this is a Trick Track, ready for
The Click Clack bang, you're looking for straight lines for the
Crystal Meth, your clique of super-chic babes with Beats by Dre

No limits, vivid coexistence, chills, toxicity, indicate the top, imitate
Crisp lyric flops with miserable shows
Similar, you won't eliminate me, I have 15 mythical flows
Don't tell me about the pitiful and slimy critics of hip hop, a certain number of
Ominids of trolls, chills, physique du role
Rhyme delivery bro, trust me bro, I leave ecchymosis
And physical shock, no diggity.
Wake up, fanatics of fake rap, Hit the Road Wack like Ray Charles,
I don't lose heart when I'm in the clubs
I dissolve your fearless heart in acid, Brave heart.
Children of flowers with grams, Darlin, peace and love,
Not dads with white noses and Pierrot features.
To avoid you, I think it's enough to say stop,
To the storytellers for infants, Justin Biberon

There are too many people out there who are full of themselves,
Focused on fashion shows and ready-to-wear, s
And I get on stage, I have a weapon with me, I'm here
I don't make rhymes, I play Russian Roulette.
For the dialectic, I have the nature of a Gourmet,
Food for minds that scream "s'il vous plaît", these beardless ones have
Tourette's syndrome, I write with only one goal, to bridge the gap.
Tick Tack, fuck with the Tip Tap man, this is a Trick Track, ready for
The Click Clack bang, you're looking for straight lines for the
Crystal Meth, your clique of super-chic babes with Beats by Dre