Текст и перевод песни Modre Hory - Flashback

Flashback

Zažili sme časy G, keď na magiči,
Sme točili magic Hip Hop.
Bolo to magic jak Johnson,
A cez pevnú linku mi volával Peko, že poď von.

Ma man Jirco mi nosil kazety,
Ktoré sa pretáčali večnosť jak planéty.
Stovky albumov, a len skutočné bomby,
Si zaslúžili nahrať na chrómky.

(Oúú)

Som mal tri, a zvyšok boli normálky,
Ou bejbe, zanesená hlava bola jedine vo walkmane.
Tracklisty sme prepisovali celú večnosť,
A večne na tých obaloch nebolo miesto.

A tým gangstrom sme nerozumeli ani F,
Iba ak to fuck, viac nič.
A bolo nám to šumafuk,
Mohli sme sa učiť jak šukať hru.

A dnes na to ani nikto nemyslí,
Že ak si chcel naozajský rap tak aj veľký G.
Si musel zapnúť MTV, a flanelky neboli len blbé retro.
Ak si získal nový album tak bol to dobrý deň, Ice Cube a to všetko.

Kouř značky Davidoff, mě tišě hladí po tváři,
Sliším tóny, cestou čtu cestopisné romány.
Ihla škrábe vinyl, a prsty se hrabou v deskách,
Žaluzie v oknech ke mně pouští kusy světa.

Kouř značky Davidoff, mě tišě hladí po tváři,
Sliším tóny, cestou čtu cestopisné romány.
Ihla škrábe vinyl, a prsty se hrabou v deskách,
Žaluzie v oknech ke mně pouští kusy světa.

Beat viac ako len úder, jak tik,
Nak narodenie hviezdy v najbližšej nebule.
Raz vybuchnú aj tie najžiarivejšie gule,
Ale nevrav, že také dobré to zas nebude.

Jak kedysi beat sere na tie premisy,
Big bang, bpm je tep, je to väčný shit.
Ako Tinitus ho nedáš tichšie,
Plavím sa na ňom a som medziplanetárny výstrel.

Daj mi svoj príbeh, elektrický jasný vnem,
Beat sa točí jak pulz a robí blink jak blesk.
Keď sa točí je blink jak šéf,
Ten röntgen žiari cez Rádio FM aktívne.

V rádio-vegetatívnej krajine,
Aktívny v reaktívnej zóne.
Vybrúsi ťa ako Spino za tých pár tikov v Harleme,
A všetkých, čo si klepú prstom po čele.

Tento beat je štiepne svetlo, héliový pervitín,
Snehy z kopcov Bolívie, bolesti, čo precítim.
Svätý Juraj, čo sťal stohlavý biznis,
Prešťal obchod s pubescentnými hormónmi.

Dobrý beat ma núti politikom podrezávať jazyky,
Sú vlčí jed, no kto je Hutu a kto Tuci.
Beat je prísna sutana, poď ňou erekcia,
Horiaci voz Katika plný výbušnej herézia.

Opitý kartezián, čo ho opantala pravá hemisféra,
Beat je totem pre movement.
Ktorý treba, keď mesto horí,
A ty v sebe zabíjaš Nera.

Kouř značky Davidoff, mě tišě hladí po tváři,
Sliším tóny, cestou čtu cestopisné romány.
Ihla škrábe vinyl, a prsty se hrabou v deskách,
Žaluzie v oknech ke mně pouští kusy světa.

Kouř značky Davidoff, mě tišě hladí po tváři,
Sliším tóny, cestou čtu cestopisné romány.
Ihla škrábe vinyl, a prsty se hrabou v deskách,
Žaluzie v oknech ke mně pouští kusy světa.

Flashback

We lived through times G, when on the magic,
We spun magic Hip Hop.
It was magic like Johnson,
And Peko called me on the landline, saying come out.

My man Jirco brought me cassettes,
Which revolved forever like planets.
Hundreds of albums, and only real bombs,
Deserved to be recorded on chromes.

(Ouuu)

I had three, and the rest were normal,
Oh baby, the only clogged head was in the Walkman.
We rewrote tracklists for an eternity,
And there was never enough space on those covers.

And we didn't understand those gangsters even F,
Only if that's fuck, nothing more.
And we didn't give a shit,
We could learn how to fuck the game.

And today no one even thinks about it,
That if you wanted West Coast rap, you also needed a big G.
You had to turn on MTV, and flannel shirts weren't just dumb retro.
If you got a new album it was a good day, Ice Cube and all that.

Davidoff smoke gently caresses my face,
I hear tones, on the way I read travel novels.
The needle scratches the vinyl, and my fingers dig into the boards,
Blinds in the windows let in pieces of the world.

Davidoff smoke gently caresses my face,
I hear tones, on the way I read travel novels.
The needle scratches the vinyl, and my fingers dig into the boards,
Blinds in the windows let in pieces of the world.

Beat more than just a beat, like a tick,
On the birth of a star in the nearest nebula.
One day even the brightest balls will explode,
But don't tell me it won't be that good again.

Like back in the day, the beat doesn't give a shit about those premises,
Big bang, bpm is the beat, it's eternal shit.
Like Tinitus you can't make it quieter,
I'm floating on it and I'm an interplanetary shot.

Give me your story, electric bright I perceive,
The beat spins like a pulse and blinks like lightning.
When it spins it blinks like a boss,
That X-ray shines through Radio FM active.

In a radio-vegetative country,
Active in the reactive zone.
It'll hone you like Spino in those few ticks in Harlem,
And all those who tap their fingers on their foreheads.

This beat is a biting light, helium pervitin,
Snows from the slopes of Bolivia, pains I feel.
Saint George, who made the business numb,
He pissed off the adolescent hormone trade.

A good beat makes me cut the tongues of politicians,
They're wolf poison, but who's Hutu and who's Tutsi.
The beat is a strict cassock, come on it erection,
Katika's burning chariot full of explosive heresy.

A drunken Cartesian, overtaken by the right hemisphere,
Beat is a totem for the movement.
Which is needed when the city is burning,
And you're killing Nero inside yourself.

Davidoff smoke gently caresses my face,
I hear tones, on the way I read travel novels.
The needle scratches the vinyl, and my fingers dig into the boards,
Blinds in the windows let in pieces of the world.

Davidoff smoke gently caresses my face,
I hear tones, on the way I read travel novels.
The needle scratches the vinyl, and my fingers dig into the boards,
Blinds in the windows let in pieces of the world.