Paroles et traduction Marcelo - Blagosloveni sjeb

Blagosloveni sjeb

The world will look up and shout: "Save us!"
And I′ll whisper: "No."
Turbo-urbano ubrano iz najvećeg seljaštva ikad:
Tarzani truju Moglije da je grana poreklo svima.
Veleslavom velegrada: široki lukovi oko smisla.
Vreme prostaka - "present simple", po piplmetru Pinka.
Glupani tripuju veličinu k'o Mario kad se naguta gljiva.
Džokerov osmeh iz mog bunkera, gde takvo sunce ne sija.
Rima pun šaržer, rafal nema ni tačku ni zarez,
Moj prezir je ambis dublji no dupe Rebeke Linares.
Ne saučestvujem u sunovratu, ne menjam ćud za paru,
Ne držim TV, nemam Fejsbuk, odbijam svu "rialiti" famu.
Nek ispira usta mojim imenom svako ko nema čime obraz:
Naravno da me mrze, naravno kad sam Roršah.
Ne sedam za sto sa stokom, ne podržavam šund-stihiju,
Zažmureću im na jedno oko samo ako mi ga izbiju
I progledaću im kroz prste samo kad mi oko u ruci drže.
Ja sam drugde. Tu ne pripadam. Ne loži se na moj hologram.
Nemam vere u revoluciju iz grla sinova buržuja,
Ni u krupne reči bunta sa tih sitnih, sitih usta.
Ne idem u klubove, jer me ne zanima dečja pornografija,
Niti bahatost pelena što su rasle na "Ranama".
Reset mozga svugde, al′ devedesete nisu bile super,
Posebno ne kad to kažu nova deca sa očima boje kuge.
Ostajem nepotkupljiv, makar propao sa tri'es',
Kad budem spao na prosjački štap, uzeću njime da bijem.
Blagosloveni sjeb.
I draži mi je sjeb nego da sam kao ti,
I radije ću biti sam nego kao svi.
Turpijam očnjake, al′ podočnjaci odaju nameru.
Štrcam otrov u ritam dok izgubljeni spavaju.
Variram od preosetljivog do neosetljivog.
Ne, nisam dobro. I srećom, nije izlečivo.
Ovo je sahrana morala. Mi smo u prvom redu.
Svež leš šaljemo crvima da ga jedu.
Sjeban sistem vrednosti - to je više nego očigledno
Kad te žednog preko vode prevedu.
Al′ sve je u redu, narod je navik'o na bedu...
Srpski film, brate: svi se međusobno jebu.
Prvo budeš jeban, onda ti jebeš keve...
Probudi se. Uključi mozak. Isključi TV.
Na TV-u je šund, a u pauzama bajke:
Keš na štapiću sladoleda i na čepu flajke.
Najstvarnija stvar je rijaliti šou...
Zato, daj taj majk da se nekom najebem majke.
Kad otvorim vatru, ja to radim bez grama poštovanja,
Bez dlake na jeziku, bez blama,
Bez kompromisa - samo bes.
Vama treba šamar da ispravi iskrivljenu svest.
Vest dana je da zlo nikada ne spava:
Zlo je u kući, na ulici, u pesmama...
Zlo je u nama, zlo nam teče kroz vene...
Zlo nas vraća kroz vreme:
Nazad u devedesete, brate, nazad na nulu,
Na haos u državi i zezanje u fulu...
Teraj sve u tri lepe, pamet u vugla,
I drži distancu - dok ljudi traže spas preko Gugla.
Daleko dok gori svet.
I draži mi je sjeb nego da sam kao ti,
I radije ću biti sam nego kao svi.
Turpijam očnjake, al′ podočnjaci odaju nameru.
Štrcam otrov u ritam dok izgubljeni spavaju.
Variram od preosetljivog do neosetljivog.
Ne, nisam dobro. I srećom, nije izlečivo.

Blessed Fuck Up

The world will look up and scream: "Save us!"
And I'll whisper: "No."
Turbo-folk plucked from the deepest peasant roots:
Tarzans poisoning Mowglis with the lie of a shared ancestry.
The glory of the metropolis: wide arches around meaninglessness.
The time of simpletons - "present simple", according to Pink's people meter.
Idiots tripping on grandeur like Mario after a mushroom.
A Joker's smile from my bunker, where such sun doesn't shine.
Rhymes are fully loaded, the burst has neither period nor comma,
My contempt is an abyss deeper than Rebeca Linares' backside.
I don't participate in the downfall, I won't change my ways for a dime,
I don't own a TV, I don't have Facebook, I reject all "reality" fame.
Let anyone without a face to wash rinse their mouth with my name:
Of course they hate me, of course, when I'm Rorschach.
I don't sit at the table with cattle, I don't support the trashy verse,
I'll turn a blind eye only if they take my eye out
And I'll look the other way only when they hold my eye in their hand.
I'm elsewhere. I don't belong here. Don't fall for my hologram.
I don't believe in revolution from the throats of bourgeois sons,
Nor in the big words of rebellion from those small, satiated mouths.
I don't go to clubs because I'm not interested in child pornography,
Nor the arrogance of diapers that grew up on "Wounds" (movie).
Brain reset everywhere, but the nineties weren't great,
Especially not when it's said by new kids with plague-colored eyes.
I remain incorruptible, even if I fail at thirty,
When I'm down to a beggar's staff, I'll use it to beat.
Blessed fuck up.
And I'd rather be fucked up than be like you,
And I'd rather be alone than be like everyone else.
I'm sharpening my fangs, but the bags under my eyes betray the intention.
I spray venom into the rhythm while the lost ones sleep.
I vary from hypersensitive to insensitive.
No, I'm not okay. And luckily, it's incurable.
This is the funeral of morals. We are in the front row.
We send the fresh corpse to the worms to devour.
A fucked up value system - it's more than obvious
When they lead you thirsty across the water.
But everything is fine, the people are used to misery...
Serbian film, sister: everyone fucks each other.
First you get fucked, then you fuck mothers...
Wake up. Turn on your brain. Turn off the TV.
On TV there's trash, and during breaks, fairy tales:
Cash on a popsicle stick and on a bottle cap.
The most real thing is the reality show...
So, give me that mic so I can fuck someone's mother.
When I open fire, I do it without an ounce of respect,
Without mincing words, without shame,
Without compromise - just rage.
You need a slap to straighten your warped consciousness.
The news of the day is that evil never sleeps:
Evil is in the house, on the street, in the songs...
Evil is within us, evil flows through our veins...
Evil takes us back in time:
Back to the nineties, sister, back to zero,
To chaos in the state and fun in full swing...
Fuck it all, mind in the embers,
And keep your distance - while people seek salvation through Google.
Far away while the world burns.
And I'd rather be fucked up than be like you,
And I'd rather be alone than be like everyone else.
I'm sharpening my fangs, but the bags under my eyes betray the intention.
I spray venom into the rhythm while the lost ones sleep.
I vary from hypersensitive to insensitive.
No, I'm not okay. And luckily, it's incurable.