Pitala si me...
Pitala si me zasto tvoje ime
nikad ne provlacim kroz rime
zasto ga nikad ne ukrasim metaforama krasnim
pa da se time hvalis kolegicama s posla
Ma nema sanse, nema tih para
da mi ikad budes dio repertoara
pa da tvoje ime pjevusi ko stigne
da si svako tek tako na brzinu puni tisine
Mislim da bih razbio gitaru
da cujem da te fuckaju na pisoaru
da me jednog dana gledas ponizeno
iz kuta ducana gdje je sve u pola snizeno
Ova pjesma o tebi koja si mi sve na svijetu
ovaj pokusaj da kazem neizrecivo
nikad se nece naci na nekom CD-u
imati naslov, cijenu i bar kod
Zar da radio voditelj krestava glasa
preko nase himne trazi vlasnike pasa
da se cereka, i kao dobra je zeka
u svaki jebeni singl ubaci ti dzingl.
Nista nije sveto,
sve je bruto i neto,
sve je zabava.
Bitno da nesto svira za zedna uha
da nikog ne dira dok pere il' kuha
da narodu skrati onih osam sati
i da lijepo stane medju dvije reklame
Ova pjesma o tebi koja si mi sve na svijetu
ovaj pokusaj da kazem neizrecivo
nikad se nece naci na nekom CD-u
imati naslov, cijenu i bar kod
Pitala si me zasto tvoje ime
nikad ne provlacim kroz rime
zasto ga nikad ne ukrasim metaforama krasnim
pa da se time hvalis kolegicama s posla
You asked me...
You asked me why your name
I never weave through rhymes
Why I never adorn it with lovely metaphors
So you can boast to your work colleagues
No chance, no amount of money
Will ever make you part of my repertoire
So your name can be sung by anyone
Filling every silence quickly
I think I'd smash the guitar
If I heard you being fucked in the restroom
If one day you look at me humiliated
From the corner of the store where everything is half off
This song about you, who are everything to me
This attempt to say the unspeakable
Will never be found on a CD
With a title, price, and barcode
Should a radio host with a loud voice
Ask for dog owners over our anthem
To chuckle, and say it's a good bunny
Insert your jingle into every damn single
Nothing is sacred,
Everything is gross and net,
Everything is entertainment.
As long as something plays for thirsty ears
Not bothering anyone while they wash or cook
To shorten the eight hours for the people
And nicely fit between two commercials
This song about you, who are everything to me
This attempt to say the unspeakable
Will never be found on a CD
With a title, price, and barcode
You asked me why your name
I never weave through rhymes
Why I never adorn it with lovely metaphors
So you can boast to your work colleagues