Текст и перевод песни Martin Maxa - Producent

Producent

Hej pane producent v blejskavým vohozu
Máte tak znudÄ>nou tváŠ.
Rozlejte džinfis a dáme si do nosu

Já netvrdÃm, že dÄ>j má zrovna strhujÃcÃ
A zÅ ejmÄ> vám nenažene strach
Prodejnou múzou co dejchla na mÄ> inspiracÃ
AÄ je to divný, byl mladej sebevrah

Tak tedy mÄ>sto se probouzà do tmy
Na noÄnà korzo vydal se prvnà páreÄek krys
Ohnivý mužÃci reklamnÃch sloganů spustili barevnej tyjátr
A jako milenci z pochybných románů svlÃkali mÄ>sto ze tmy jako ženu

A o kus dál na rohu ulice opilej taneÄnÃk
SmÄ>Å¡nÄ> dokola tanÄà svý kreace.
A jeÅ¡tÄ> dál v pÅ Ãtmà slepý ulice vlasatej
AndÄ>l si vbodl snÄ>nà do žÃly na ruce

TeÄ budeÅ¡ vÃtÄ>znej matador nad muletou, zÃtra tÄ> cosi chytà do pasti
Na dno je cesta docela krátká vlasatej proroku
NemusÃÅ¡ chvátat, nemusÃÅ¡ spÄ>chat, pÅ idávat do kroku

Dejte mi svátek vy moje noÄnà můry
Hlava se mi z vás rozskoÄÃ
JeÅ¡tÄ> pár mincà mi v dlani sladce studÃ
Koukejte jak to s nima roztoÄÃm

A o kus dál na rohu ulice opilej taneÄnÃk
SmÄ>Å¡nÄ> dokola tanÄà svý kreace.
A jeÅ¡tÄ> dál v pÅ Ãtmà slepý ulice vlasatej
AndÄ>l si vbodl snÄ>nà do žÃly na ruce

Poslednà staccato stÅ evÃců zaznÄ>lo
Poslednà tavernÄ> zhasly oÄi
PÅ ÃbÄ>h tÃm nekonÄÃ

Protože smrt zkrátka neodbudeÅ¡ jednÃm slovem
NestaÄÃ Å Ãct, mÄ>jte se, amen a buÄte sbohem
A tahle svÃce zhasla tak zbyteÄnÄ> i Äernej funebrák kroutà hlavou
To jenom vy se poŠád tváŠÃte neteÄnÄ> veÅ¡kerej žádnej cit pod fasádou

Tak co pane producent, jak se vám lÃbila tahle pÃsniÄka?
Å Ãkáte, že se vám nezdá tak docela ze života?
No to je pochopitelný, z týhletý vejÅ¡ky na dno nemůžete dohlÃdnout
Na dno zkrátka nedohlÃdnete, pane producent

Producer

Hey, Mr. Producer, in the flashing forest
Your face is so bored.
Pour us some gin, and we'll have a snort

I'm not saying my story is particularly enthralling
And my name won't give you a scare
A marketable muse that breathed inspiration into me
And strangely enough, he was a young suicidal

So the city awakens into the darkness
The first pair of rats ventured out onto the night boulevard
Fire people of advertising slogans have started a colorful spectacle
And like lovers from questionable novels, they undressed the city from the darkness like a woman

And a little further down, on the corner of the street, a drunken dancer
Funny, he's dancing his creations around in circles.
And even further down, in the darkness of the hairy alley
An angel has injected his dream into the vein on his arm

You will be the triumphant matador over the small cape today, tomorrow something will catch you in a trap
The path to the bottom is quite short, hairy prophet
You don't have to hurry, you don't have to rush, to put more pace in your step

Give me your holiday, my nocturnal mares
My head will burst from you
A few more coins are still chilling sweetly in my palm
Look how I make them spin

And a little further down, on the corner of the street, a drunken dancer
Funny, he's dancing his creations around in circles.
And even further down, in the darkness of the hairy alley
An angel has injected his dream into the vein on his arm

The last staccato of the stairs has sounded
The last tavern has extinguished its eyes
The waiting won't end

Because in short, you won't dismiss death with one word
It's not enough to say, have a good one, amen, and farewell
And this candle has gone out so unnecessarily, even the black hearse shakes its head
It's just you who still pretend to be indifferent, every desire under a facade without any feeling

So, Mr. Producer, how did you like this song?
Or are you saying that it doesn't seem quite real to you?
Well, that's understandable, from that height you can't see the bottom
In short, you won't see the bottom, Mr. Producer