Текст и перевод песни Momo - Pohreb

Pohreb

Pochovávam pojebaný rep do zeme, ničím slabých,
Všetci mŕtvi králi, všetci kári kardináli,
Na nich padá hromada hliny, v ich tvári ostal nádych,
A tak nevyhnú sa dnešnému pohrebu kári,
Všetci zverinári pre rep, rep veterinári, žiadne konfety,
Fanfáry, tu ich svet topím v pohári, tento pohreb, ktorý
Už dlho mám fixkou v kalendári, čakajú vás s lopatami
Hrobári a kamenári, pojebanci hovoria si ′kto to prišiel?'
′Odkiaľ?', odtiaľ kde vy ste žiaľ jak lanský ošiaľ,
Dovoľte aby som vám úprimnú sústrasť poprial,
No nepoprel svoju účasť na pohrebe objal, nie som ten
čo z každého si do seba pár deci odlial, ale ten čo ti
Na tvojom pohrebe rád kurvu objal, ten čo smeje sa ti
Podpísaný veľkým číslom rímskym, ten čo neprezentuje
Sa kolom mlynským prísnym, fajči mi kokot každý
Zkurvysyn s repom hmlistým, práve hovorím o tebe,
žebrák zmizni s tým!

Vítam vás na pohrebe kurev, hajzlov
Nesú sa hrobári né s rakvou prázdnou,
Vítam vás na pohrebe kurev, hajzlov
Zahájil som pohreb, kár, dnes, tak máš smolu

Vitajte na funuse smradov, ktorí mlčia v hudbe,
Piča rep o tom ako vitálne sú verní jednej kurve,
V separé, 14 v nepáre je dôvod prečo nie ste v kurze,
Stoka rep vám viac zatiahne na krku korzet, pozostalí
Zosnulých vám vedia schuti napluť na ich rakvu,
Jak zbrane stoky cvaknú, ovečky sa zlaknú,
Mlčky si klaknú (psst!), na psí povel pritaknú,
Chcete chodiť v podzemí, Lektor vám sfúkne faklu,
(Fúú!) pochytajte sa za kokoty, hrajte sa schovávačku,
Pred nami nezmiznete, od dverí nemých majú naši paklúč,
Hlasný rehot nevyjde nevhod keď ruší farárove monológy,
O tom jak súdny lekár odkryl vaše pozostatky dole na patológii,
Páchatelia sú dávno známi - bohovia stoky, nájdeš nás
V mytológii, na ulici bignovať, smiať sa z fóbií, z pándlí – pándlam
Napluť do huby, čo špinavosťou kándlí, a všetkým kariéristom,
Rep banditom, práve odzvonilo bam-bim-bim-bam-bom

Štýlom svojím repujem si, a tak pohreb tvoj je (smrad!)
Pochovaný každý kár čo len kokot vie, (tak) trúchliaci
Sú blízki, smutný hlboký tón je, (ja) zahájil som pohreb,
Vstúpte do ceremónie, eMO2 číslo rímskeho II., to robím
Podla seba, podla toho všetkého som hrozba hodná,
Skutočný rep vyhrá – napísali pravidlá, piča rep tu mŕtvych
Prelietava cez zvodidlá, je mŕtva hudba chybná, mŕtva hudba
Naivná, je pochovaná pojebaná pod zem hudba divná,
Album z ulice, v ktorom účinkujú len skutoční,
Poukazuje na to, že pouličný rep útočí, tie pojebané tragédie
Kári vám nikto neverí, tak všetci slabí reperi (zkurvysyni) sa
Rozplývajú v éteri, aj všetci kári, ktorí sebou vakerujú samplery,
Pochovávam dutých jebov tupých a ich aféry, zahájil som
Pohreb, pojebanec máš po hre!, XIV číslom rímskym, som Momo,
Pamätaj dobre! (smrad!)

(Sleduj!) Robiť hudbu pre peniaze a dostať za hudbu peniaze,
Sú dve rôzne veci, ako jebať odpadnutú mindžu na extáze,
Alebo dostať kurvu cicinou k extáze, chápeš?!, zbytočne
Vodu šlapeš, v pohári utopený si dávno vinou vlastnou,
Kokotinou tvojou pičnou, fakt zlou tvorbou fikčnou, prázdnou,
Tak jak hovno hodnou – akurát hajzlu, nami opľutou,
Odsunutou na druhú koľaj každou osobou, ktorá má v hlave
Jasno, zhaslo svetlo, obhajobou nezachráni ťa ani Ben Matlock
Pre peklom, Suchý Pes víta ťa na pohrebe kurev, smradov,
Klaunov, zas ti bude teplo ako v trúbe, fajnú saunu, prichystaná
Pre teba je rozpálená kremačná pec, chlapec tá vec je istá,
Jak to že hladko pristáť ti nepomôže ani ten čo ťahal ťa hore za to,
že si sa nechal ako nádejná Misska od porotcu po papuli károm
Lískať, svojím drístaním si získal akurát to, že zo sídliska útočia
Na teba Suché aj bojové psiská, kričíš a ono faul nikto nepíska,
Kokot dávno ťa kixla zo zoznamu živých károv červená fixka,
Si mŕtvy, kár! (ha ha ha...)

Funeral

I bury fucked-up rap in the ground, crushing the weak,
All dead kings, all cardinals in their carriages,
A heap of dirt falls on them, a breath remains on their faces,
And so the carriages cannot escape today's funeral,
All beastmasters for rap, rap veterinarians, no candy,
Fanfares, here their world drowns in a glass, this funeral that
I've had marked in my calendar with a marker for a long time, gravediggers
And stonemasons are waiting for you with shovels, the fuckers are saying, 'Who's that?'
'Where from?', from where you, unfortunately, are like last year's craze,
Allow me to offer you my sincere condolences,
But he didn't deny his participation in the funeral, he hugged, I'm not the one
Who poured a couple of deciliters from everyone into himself, but the one who
At your funeral, I'd gladly hug a bitch, the one who laughs at you
Signed with a big Roman numeral, the one who doesn't present himself
With a strict mill wheel, suck my dick every
Son of a bitch with a hazy rap, I'm talking about you,
Beggar, get out of here with that!

Welcome to the funeral of whores, assholes
The gravediggers are not carrying an empty coffin,
Welcome to the funeral of whores, assholes
I started the funeral, bitch, today, so you're out of luck

Welcome to the funeral of the stinking ones who are silent in music,
Bitch rap about how vitally they are faithful to one bitch,
In a private room, 14 in an odd number is the reason why you're not in vogue,
Sewer rap will tighten the corset around your neck more, the bereaved
Of the deceased can spit on their coffin with relish,
As the sewer guns click, the sheep get scared,
Silently kneel down (psst!), nod at the dog's command,
You want to walk in the underground, Lektor will blow out your torch,
(Whew!) grab your dicks, play hide and seek,
You won't disappear from us, our pack has the key to the silent doors,
Loud laughter is inappropriate when it disturbs the priest's monologues,
About how the coroner uncovered your remains down in pathology,
The perpetrators are long known - the gods of the sewer, you'll find us
In mythology, flexing on the street, laughing at phobias, spitting at poodles – poodles
In the mouth, what candles with filth, and to all careerists,
Rap bandits, the bell has just tolled bam-bim-bim-bam-bom

I rap in my own style, and so your funeral is (stink!)
Every bitch who only knows dick is buried, (so) the mourners
Are close, a sad deep tone is, (I) started the funeral,
Enter the ceremony, eMO2 Roman numeral II., I do it
According to myself, according to all that I am a worthy threat,
Real rap wins – the rules were written, bitch rap here flies the dead
Over the guardrails, dead music is flawed, dead music
Naive, fucked up music is buried under the ground, strange music,
Album from the street, in which only real ones participate,
Points out that street rap is attacking, those fucked up tragedies
Nobody believes you bitches, so all weak rappers (motherfuckers) are
Dissolving in the ether, even all the bitches who are carrying samplers around,
I bury hollow, stupid fucks and their affairs, I started
The funeral, motherfucker, your game is over!, Roman numeral XIV, I'm Momo,
Remember that well! (stink!)

(Watch!) Making music for money and getting money for music,
Are two different things, like fucking a passed-out pussy on ecstasy,
Or getting a bitch to ecstasy with your pussy, you get it?!, unnecessarily
You're treading water, you've long been drowned in a glass through your own fault,
Your shitty pussy, really bad fictional, empty creation,
Just like shit worthy – only for the toilet, spat on by us,
Pushed aside by every person who has
Clarity in their head, the light went out, not even Ben Matlock can save you with a defense
Before hell, Suchý Pes welcomes you to the funeral of whores, stinks,
Clowns, you'll be warm again like in an oven, a nice sauna, prepared
For you is a red-hot cremation furnace, boy, that thing is certain,
How come even the one who pulled you up for not letting
Yourself be licked on the face by a judge like a hopeful Miss,
With your bullshit, you've only earned the fact that from the housing estate they attack
You both dry and fighting dogs, you scream and nobody whistles a foul,
A red marker has long kicked you off the list of living bitches,
You're dead, bitch! (ha ha ha...)