Текст и перевод песни Scriptor - Grm Gorući

Grm Gorući

Neki misle da sam ateist skupljam marke
Ko filatelist brate nisam Mate, al mi znate bis
Kovač svoje sreće, predodređen za ljubav i
Konačno je srećem, pljujem obraz koji je smeće
Neki mali me pita kaj da studira jer
Odbija čitav život u dlan masturbirat
Reko poziv koji biraš put je kroz zid tvojeg mira
I nema jamstva da ćeš poentirat. Ljudi proliju
Krv, znoj i suze za krzno i šuze
Kažu mi bježi brzo iz mjuze jer te grdo izmuze
Al prst broji tuzemnu valutu frende
Pobjednik je stao luzeru na rutu. Predmet koji
Deklariram je pogrešno reklamiran
Ćuka kuca ratni ritam, u žilama rijeka mira
Repam iracionalno dobro
Neplanirano sam etabliran u nacionalno dobro
Često pretenciozan jer imam kretenski mozak
Taština me nagriza ko jetre ciroza. Prevruć i
Kad je klima zima, očevi mi mašu mirazima
Dolce vita kćeri nisu mi razina
Scriptor je prenabrijan lik s kojim ste vi na vi
Dinamit, driblam beat ko Thiery Henri
Pijanist, trijezan okrećem pijan list
Trn u omči, kum, poručnik, grm gorući

Grm gorući
Tu di voliš ić su ljudi dvolični
Podijeljeni ko količnik, melankolični
Ovisničke duše brušene za izazove
Oveći kurac popuše skrušeno kad kriza zove
Brazda neuspjeha kopa lica
Mlađi ti te gleda iz fotke ko da zna da si propalica
Snimiš neviđenog gubitnika u svojoj sjeni
Tvrdiš niko se ne trudi nikad u tvojoj smjeni
U planovima o budućnosti je falilo odlučnosti
Ne možeš obuć kostim muškosti
Uvijek možeš uć ko sin, jednom ćeš izać ko tata
Lišen trač kontakta pišem drmnut pračkom takta
Grm gorući, vatrena stihija
Pakao podvojenog karaktera, stih i ja
Psihijatrija, objasni mi stav hipija
Narod je glasan i slab, vođa je tih i jak
Oko mene psuju gnjevni birokrati
Vrijeme curi, nisam ga biro kratit
Reko jednoj curi da bi mogli nać sreću skupa
Ko je reko da je sreća skupa, zbog svakog
Versa koji bacim iz šale imam na faci nišane
Na placu mi šalje reperski pozdrav nakvarcani šaner
Jer sam zadnji nemogući reper, prvi mogući
Trn u omči, kum, poručnik, grm gorući

Burning Bush

Some think I'm an atheist, collecting stamps
Like a philatelist, brother, I'm not Mate, but you know me well
The smith of my own happiness, destined for love and
Finally, I'm happy, I spit in the face of what's trash
Some little guy asks me what to study because
He refuses to spend his whole life masturbating in the palm of his hand
I said the calling you choose is a path through the wall of your peace
And there's no guarantee you'll score. People spill
Blood, sweat, and tears for fur and shoes
They tell me to run fast from the music because it'll exploit you badly
But my finger counts the domestic currency, my friend
The winner stood on the loser's route. The object that
I declare is falsely advertised
The beat of the war drums, in the veins of the river of peace
I rap irrationally well
I'm unplannedly established as a national good
Often pretentious because I have a stupid brain
Vanity gnaws at me like cirrhosis of the liver. Too hot and
When the climate is winter, my fathers wave dowries
Dolce vita daughters aren't my level
Scriptor is an overstimulated dude you're on a first-name basis with
Dynamite, I dribble the beat like Thierry Henry
Pianist, sober, I turn the drunken page
Thorn in the noose, godfather, lieutenant, burning bush

Burning bush
Where you love to go, people are two-faced
Divided like a quotient, melancholic
Addictive souls polished for challenges
They smoke a bigger dick humbly when the crisis calls
The furrow of failure digs faces
The younger you looks at you from the photo as if he knows you're a loser
You shoot an unprecedented loser in your shadow
You insist no one ever tries in your shift
In plans for the future, there was a lack of determination
You can't put on a suit of masculinity
You can always enter as a son, one day you'll come out as a father
Deprived of the contact of gossip, I write, hit by the slingshot of the beat
Burning bush, fiery стихия
Hell of a split character, verse and I
Psychiatry, explain to me the stance of the hippies
The people are loud and weak, the leader is quiet and strong
Angry bureaucrats curse around me
Time is leaking, I'm not going to bureau it short
I told one girl we could find happiness together
Who said happiness is expensive, because of every
Verse I throw out as a joke, I have targets on my face
On the square, a cheesy shaner sends me a rap greeting
Because I'm the last impossible rapper, the first possible
Thorn in the noose, godfather, lieutenant, burning bush