Текст и перевод песни At Versaris - Vudú Particular

Vudú Particular

Que perquè sent bon xaval em rodejo de tants cràpules?
Pel mateix que tinc mil cedes però només cinc caràtules.
I què sabràs tu de bones companyies
Si has venut el teu passat per un podrit plat de llenties.
"Me la suda", vocifera, boca pestilent.
No em posaré com una fera perquè ets envejós i lent.
Si un fa tot el que pot fer, no està obligat a més.
I "suda" de llegir això del revés.
Perquè si un pot fer-ho tot,
Fins i tot, baix d'autoestima voldrà dir que ho ha de fer tot,
No només vomitar rima.
I mentre penso en "pocs són capaços de fer-me riure"
Aquesta màxima em turmenta
I oblido ser lliure.

Que no n'hi ha prou amb un notable si et pots sortir a classe?
M'han donat mil raons però cap que tingui "un passe".
I ja sé, estàs farta d'aquest buscaraons.
Jo de tu pijaita i de que em pengis els galons.
De que pensis en la pasta,
Que et cargolis la rasta mentre sento fugir el temps
I aquesta història em desgasta.
La casta dels mediocres fa mediocre allò que toquen.
Vigila amb ATV si al escoltar-los xoquen:
Els teus anhels passats amb el que has triat.
Els rics que legitimes amb un moviment armat.
Somnis defenestrats amb rutina i sexe fàcil
Els cops de puny de veritat amb estereotips de dòcil.

Res a dir-te. Demà acaba un altre cicle
31-12-2007. No seré el típic que ric la broma de bastarda que no té gràcia ni cos.
Destorbarem el seu repòs.
A la festa de disfresses d'aquests "mendes"
Vens si et dutxes, si portes la cara neta per no embrutar les caputxes.
Em coneixeràs perquè estaré tancat al lavabo.
No per la merda blanca sinó perquè ploro quan les clavo.

Ja has sentit el meu vudú particular a deshora
A una esclava del Zara de mirada inquisidora
Ja has sentit el meu vudú particular a deshora
Ara ve la carta d'un incapaç que es declara

Cap més intenció que demostrar que es pot fer tot.
Buscar un beat. Matar el singlot gravant guitarres.
No malgastar més de vint minuts en una lírica
I sentir les barres de la mandíbula com freguen esperant farres boniques.
Fet miques. Les dues en punt.
Passar de fer-me un "sun"
I veure que has fet curt quan pronostiques
La virtut d'un nen petit "who's walking on the moon".
Somniar un món per compartir,
De ritme només me'n cal un.
No he sopat res com res he pretès.
Només un ritme obès.
Cada vegada que penso i lamento haver-te sobreentès...
Paraules fàcils flueixen fàcil en una boca dòcil.
Pau, amb aquesta cara d'imbècil.
"Qui et toca", pensant com un massoca.
Dimarts 13 ahir, per mi, dur com una roca
O dolç com un bombó de moka.
T'han dit que: "No... que... ah..."
És freda i s'enroca.
Només hi ha hagut una norma:
No borrar cap paraula.
Ho he escrit tal com raja i crec que m'ha quedat enorme.
Un barjaula davant del PC,
I si no rima, què importa.
Avui només el temps pesa.
Fer-ho ràpid i porta.
A l'estiu vaig rimar "punt i final", una lletra viscuda,
No la guardo per no fer-te mal
Sinó perquè el que es perd en última instància
No és la vida, és l'esperança més fotuda.
Desequilibres com el meu cervell.
No em facis cas, "suda".
Teoria de la paraula viva com l'avi Maragall. Tall.
No és aquest el concepte, nen. El concepte és mall.
La meva recepta, m'encanta aquest catxo.

Qui et toca, pensant com un massoca.
Dimarts 13 ahir, per mi, dur com una roca
O dolç com un bombó de moka.
T'han dit que: "No... que... ah..."
És freda i s'enroca.

Ja has sentit el meu vudú particular a deshora
A una esclava del Zara de mirada inquisidora
Ja has sentit el meu vudú particular a deshora
I la carta d'un incapaç que es declara.

Particular Voodoo

Why do I, a good kid, surround myself with so many scoundrels?
For the same reason I have a thousand CDs but only five covers.
And what would you know about good company
If you sold your past for a rotten plate of lentils.
"I don't care", they shout, with a pestilent mouth.
I won't become a beast because you're envious and slow.
If one does all they can, they are not obligated to do more.
And "don't bother" reading this backwards.
Because if one can do everything,
Even low self-esteem will mean they have to do everything,
Not just vomit rhymes.
And while I think about "few are able to make me laugh"
This maxim torments me
And I forget to be free.

Isn't a B enough if you can get out of class?
They've given me a thousand reasons but none that have a "pass".
And I know, you're tired of this troublemaker.
If I were you, I'd step on it and hang my stripes on me.
Think about the dough,
Twist your dreadlocks while I feel time slipping away
And this story wears me down.
The caste of the mediocre makes mediocre everything they touch.
Watch out for ATV if they clash when you listen to them:
Your past yearnings with what you have chosen.
The rich you legitimize with an armed movement.
Dreams defenestrated with routine and easy sex
The punches of truth with stereotypes of docile.

Nothing to tell you. Tomorrow another cycle ends
31-12-2007. I won't be the typical one who laughs at the bastard joke that has no grace or body.
We will disturb their rest.
At the costume party of these "mendas"
Come if you shower, if you wear a clean face so as not to dirty the hoods.
You'll know me because I'll be locked in the bathroom.
Not because of the white shit but because I cry when I nail them.

You've already heard my particular voodoo at the wrong time
To a slave of Zara with an inquisitive look
You've already heard my particular voodoo at the wrong time
Now comes the letter of an incapable who declares himself

No more intention than to show that everything can be done.
Find a beat. Kill the hiccup by recording guitars.
Don't waste more than twenty minutes on a lyric
And feel the bars of the jaw rub together waiting for beautiful spree.
Crumbs. Two o'clock.
Go from making myself a "sun"
And see that you've fallen short when you predict
The virtue of a little boy "who's walking on the moon".
Dream of a world to share,
I only need one rhythm.
I haven't eaten anything like nothing I've intended.
Just an obese rhythm.
Every time I think and regret having understood you...
Easy words flow easily in a docile mouth.
Peace, with that imbecile face.
"Who touches you", thinking like a masochist.
Tuesday the 13th yesterday, for me, hard as a rock
Or sweet as a mocha bonbon.
They've told you that: "No... that... ah..."
She's cold and she's castling.
There has only been one rule:
Don't erase any words.
I've written it as it flows and I think it's turned out huge.
A chatterbox in front of the PC,
And if it doesn't rhyme, who cares.
Today only time weighs.
Do it fast and carry it.
In the summer I rhymed "full stop", a lived lyric,
I don't keep it so as not to hurt you
But because what is lost in the last instance
It's not life, it's the most fucked up hope.
Imbalances like my brain.
Don't listen to me, "sweat it out".
Theory of the living word like Grandpa Maragall. Cut.
That's not the concept, kid. The concept is a mall.
My recipe, I love this piece.

Who touches you, thinking like a masochist.
Tuesday the 13th yesterday, for me, hard as a rock
Or sweet as a mocha bonbon.
They've told you that: "No... that... ah..."
She's cold and she's castling.

You've already heard my particular voodoo at the wrong time
To a slave of Zara with an inquisitive look
You've already heard my particular voodoo at the wrong time
And the letter of an incapable who declares himself.