Текст и перевод песни Rocco Hunt - HipHopcrisia

HipHopcrisia

M fum sti rappers p mezza cann ra mnezz aezz
A fum lasci e pezz e sti fumacchi grezz
M vuard rinto o specchi e dic nun si comm a lor
Cerc forza e sicurezz ma carezz e disc d'oro
Prenot p Amsterdam chest e a sesta vot
Ma vac o bar m fum o gas facc a spes e vac a rot
E comm a Barcellon a gent loc fa o burdell
Mo famm assaggia chest erb
Sul spiagg e social club
Tutt sti faschio blogger stann tutt esaltat
Instagram i sta calm cha stai tutt azzcat
Tu nun viv nta realta stai nto carton animat
Aro o chiu nfam te frat a chiu puttan e na fat
Vafammoc a si corrot ca so a mafia nte radio
E disc nuost man e nir anna magna tutt quand
V penz spiss int o mument ca m appicc nu bland
Miezz a sta stori e sti guagliun vonn a robb ch cant

Nui c'hamma vist a mort e c meravigliamm
Sol sbatt fort nte fnestr asciutt e pann
Nui c'hamma vist o tiemp e s purta e cumpagn
Vient sbatt e port e puort e figli mbracc e mamm
Par che s so oers tutt e cos e na vota int a chillu campett ormai chiu nisciun chi c joc
Ancor facci o rap pe bisnes e pe sfog fratm miett stu bitt a cap cacci nata storia e all'improvvis vec na fotografia quatt impazzut miezz a giamba e un i chill sta affianc a dio facevm a collett i jurnat san

HipHopcrisy

I'm tired of these rappers with their half-assed lyrics and fake attitude
I'm tired of seeing them drop albums and get high off their own supply
I look in the mirror and I don't see myself in them anymore
I search for strength and security, but I only find gold records and empty promises
I've booked a flight to Amsterdam six times now
But I end up at the bar, smoking weed and getting wasted
And just like in Barcelona, the streets are filled with chaos
Now let me try this herb
On the beach with the social club
All these fashion bloggers are so excited
Instagram, calm down, you're all hooked
You don't live in reality, you live in a cartoon
The more famous you get, the more you act like a whore
You make me sick, because you're the mafia on the radio
And your music is garbage, and you'll eat everything when you're hungry
I often think about the moment when I'll finally snap
In the middle of this story, these kids want what I sing about

We've seen death and we're still in awe
Just bang hard on the windows and dry the cloth
We've seen time and its companions
Come knock on the door and carry your children in your arms, mothers
It seems like everyone is dead and no one plays in that field anymore
I still rap for business and to vent, my brother, put this beat on and let's create a story, and out of improvisation, let's create a photograph, four crazy people in the middle of the crowd, and one of them next to God, we used to collect the giornat san