Kali - Koń Trojański

Tłumaczenie:

[Scratch]

Real boy, I'll never be fake
those fake boys will never be real
Don't be surprised when you see them in the paddy wagon
they don't want to be on tv, but they want to be on a hundred
It's bad shit as a spectator don't be a fool
They better write a CD, they'll end up in a remodel.
working bunch for them wine in plastic bag
Because they seem to take kilos and slide down after zoom tube
pseudo-real, in the face only lames
And the only thing they stole were the coins from the priest's tray.
zero style, zero truth, zero class
In front of the camera like stones outside of it clown like Mr. Krat
all the same, all dressed the same
they can no longer tell who they have become clones
with poor rhymes they want to shine with great splendor
and they give as much light as lightning bug

[Scratch]

They tell you about the crime, but they've never been there.
They'll tell you how to live even though they've never lived like this
They've had a little bit of a drink, they're bragging about big moves
But they're just ciphers, on police station, they only snitching
ass short you fuck urka burka
I think you know the streets from your own backyard
The street tells me they don't fucking understand you
If you want, I'll tell you what theft really means.
Just for what, I'm supposed to wiggle like a teenager with a sling
more to say he who is as quiet as a statue
I can walk barefoot, but I won't sell the truth
more than once put on trial I've shown how much I'm worth
They like greyhounds fucking go their shanty-type shit
It's you Sparta soldiers, uncovering your card I'm against you
Like "Ich Troje", I'll always defend my Troy

[Scratch]

Who said a strong MC should have a track suit?
Who said I should look the way you want me to look
Bald and hood, it's not the only weapon
'Cause the real weapon can got that guy in the Louis Vuitton shirt too
your world does not go off the curb, on the same subjects each of you has looped
A real deluge of this stretched truth, I'll sweep a little hee, for your death now smoke
how foehn pass you seasonals because it's a simple scheme like the profile of a silent sheep
and the truth hunters see you better than I do,
Bogus hip-hop guys now are drowning your bunks
where are your roots, I guess there at the disco
Raised on techno, Raised on a mephedrone
I'm going to make puree from you, I'm going to sell it
Fuck off once and for all. You're not on my wallpaper.