Текст и перевод песни Cosang - Pe Chi Nun Crere

Pe Chi Nun Crere

"Chest va a te manager ca nun crer′n ndo rap.
Chest è p chill c crer'n e fa o′ rap".
N'ave scuorn 'e me pá, si penz sbagliat e port or ngann e si a vint′anne sacc ch teng o ghiacc ndo sang.
Ch sient quand e guardij fann appost a n′arresta?
Ij sto criscenn e teng o riman senza cumpagn
Yeah, yeah, vas annascus portn guerr, frat voln ma so pront a se fa itta nterr.
Chiamm'm nfam si vec e sord aret e strett e man e si a comm rir, ric na femmn cumm′è.
Troppi criatur nterr e Cristo nun e gghizz, appicc nata luc pe cchi se ne scis accis.
Parol spis nfacc a chi se sent cchin e raggie, a cchi se scriv ngopp o racc: "o figlio mio" nun o 'bbracc.
Troppi sciem senz o flow, e facc for a quant so, scrvenn rim co caricator e si nun si nfam aret o fierr, chiur a vocc.
Stu malammore coc nguorp fino a quanno chiure ll′uocchie.
Accussi o facimm a Napl, pe cchi nun mett a facc o post ro nom
Chest è pe chi nun crere.
Port e port comm foss cell e cell, ll'uocchij cercn o brutt ind o bell mentr for chest e′ comme chell.
Intant ancor nun vec nient r'over, attur cu l'ispirazion a situazion ra ajere.
Appicc e cart, tutt part mo a zero.
Nguorp cont chell c puort e si pierd przon attuorn, pierd, perduon e suonn.
E juorn cchiu crur bruc′n e juorn matur,
Tropp omm gia ra criatur si vinn chell ca nun può tucca, sott a nu mur

Co′Sang son pe guagliun perz, cchi ver a verita luntan ro luss e trov a forz rint o stress, suror e sang sperz;
So vers grezz c vann senza prezz cchiu nnanz e cchi crer ch brill che schizz.
Ij vec lacreme ch scorr'n, ngopp a maneche se lassano.
So paur ca nun passn, pe mo, rest ind e PRO ma semp che scavz.
Manteng over si m teng for re favz.
CHEST MO È PE CHI NUN CRERE CA OGNI QUARTIERE CA È NA STORIJ OVER, PASSION E GALER
NISCIUN CCHIU SPER A GIUSTIZIJ, E VEST NER.
CE REST FA E SERIJ FINO A QUANNO VAJ NCIELO."
Rappresentamm Napl addo e vasl fann tremmà e machin, addo e man armat sparn guardij a ngopp e Transalp, Co′
Sang, criatur e caten ngann, funeral addo e clan rival fann e regal pe muglier
Galer e dedic e nuje vittim ra stess arij che sicarij, inal'n zer certezz pe l′ammor, piccio nun ce serv.
Chell c'avimm simm nuje stess, celebramm e muort rint e cchies.
O romanz ro guaglion ianc senza ciort, ncass paricchij sord e nir nun o supportn, scuntat pe mme,
Pcche apparteng e tiemp r′or, na strada long ca accumenc cu:" sient mo!"
Beat - box, senza pippott, jeep o spirito d'azienda, elicotteri ncielo, nu gir nzieme e viecchij galeott.
Tatuat a quanno nun er na mod, leggend e miezz a vij comm 'a Scigna prima ca se ne jev.
Na Vespa p′ogni culor c′ascev ma ropp a scena varia, cagn, pass'n l′ann, mo so Touareg nir e siren ra mortuaria...
RIT.
X2
CHEST MO È PE CHI NUN CRERE CA OGNI QUARTIERE CA È NA STORIJ OVER, PASSION E GALER
NISCIUN CCHIU SPER A GIUSTIZIJ, E VEST NER.
CE REST FA E SERIJ FINO A QUANNO VAJ NCIELO."

For Those Who Don't Believe

"This one is for your manager, who doesn't believe in rap.
This is for those who believe in it and do rap".
I don't have my father's scorn, if he thinks wrong and brings me deceit and if at twenty years old I know I have ice in my blood.
What do you feel when the guards make an appointment for an arrest?
I'm growing up and I have the rest without companions
Yeah, yeah, years go by they bring wars, brothers want but they are ready to do everything among themselves.
Call me infamous if I see old and deaf behind the street and shake hands and if I start laughing, I'll tell you what a woman is like.
Too many children among themselves and Christ is not there, light was born up high for those who are killed down below.
Words spent in the face of those who feel full of rays, to those who write on the arm: "my son" I don't embrace him.
Too many know-it-alls without flow, and I make room for how many they are, writing rhymes with a charger and if you are not infamous behind the iron, shut your mouth.
This bad love flows until I close my eyes.
This is how we do it in Naples, for those who don't put their name on the place
This is for those who don't believe.
I carry and carry as if they were cells and cells, the eyes look for the ugly in the beautiful while out there this is like that.
Meanwhile, I still don't see anything above, around with inspiration the situation of yesterday.
I attach the cards, all starting from scratch.
I flow with what it brings and if you get lost in prison around, you lose, forgiveness and sound.
And the most raw days burn and the mature days,
Too many men already from creators if what you can't touch is sold, under a wall

Co'Sang are for lost kids, who see the truth far from the light and find strength within the stress, lost sisters and blood;
They are rough verses that go without price further and further and those who believe they shine than those who squirt.
I see tears that flow, on the sleeves they leave themselves.
They are fears that do not pass, for now, they stay in the PRO but always digging.
Keep seeing if you keep me out of your beans.
THIS IS FOR THOSE WHO DON'T BELIEVE THAT EVERY NEIGHBORHOOD THAT HAS A STORY ABOVE, PASSION AND GALLERIES
NO ONE HOPES FOR JUSTICE ANYMORE, AND BLACK CLOTHES.
WE HAVE TO BE SERIOUS UNTIL WE GO TO HEAVEN."
We represent Naples where the ships make the cars tremble, where the armed hands save the guards on the Transalp, Co'
Sang, creators and chains deceive, funerals where rival clans make gifts for wives
Galleries and dedications and we are victims of the same air as the hitmen, we inhale certainties for love, little one we don't need it.
What we have is ourselves, we celebrate the dead in the churches.
The novel of the kids still without hearts, they meet deaf pairs and black people don't support it, obvious for me,
Because it belongs to the time of gold, a long road that begins with: "listen now!"
Beat - box, without puppets, jeep or company spirit, helicopters in the sky, a ride together and old galleons.
Tattooed when it wasn't a fashion, legends in the middle of the streets like the Sign before it left.
A Vespa for every color that came out but after the scene varies, dogs, years go by, now they are black Touaregs and sirens of the mortuary...
RIT.
X2
THIS IS FOR THOSE WHO DON'T BELIEVE THAT EVERY NEIGHBORHOOD THAT HAS A STORY ABOVE, PASSION AND GALLERIES
NO ONE HOPES FOR JUSTICE ANYMORE, AND BLACK CLOTHES.
WE HAVE TO BE SERIOUS UNTIL WE GO TO HEAVEN."