MiyaGi - Бошка (Head) Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Head (Brain)

Miyagi:
For all eternity cripples, who have not heard brother’s word.
Care, blocks, beaty.
Adversity follows in ours footsteps.
And I’ll write verses at sunset – not for everyone, for some.
Wind, keep an eye on sails.
Dead ends sharpened pikes.
We trampled planet down, walked the valleys, streets – we hardened time.
Pit, get out of my face!
Let’s plant a tree.
I have nothing to live if you are not near me, even if it kills me.
Sometime I’ll get myself straightened out.
I hate this sediment of misunderstanding between me and me.
And in my sea the raft sinks, that is warped as hell.
I’m Buster Keaton, and I want to laugh less and less.
I’m counting up all my advantages without bending fingers.
We infiltrate mind wilds, confide to sound.
Stone Hedge on beats. Check it out, brother.
 
Chorus:
Certainly, man, it’s bloody Babylon.
The streets were burning and the freedom was in our hip pocket.
But instantly hapiness was dissapearing in the fuss.
I’ve felt myself like a schoolboy with scrambled brain
and barge into for sure!
 
Endshpiel:
This smoke from windows is my luxury message.
Rubbish is among peers. Brother, I’ve not chilled out.
The helm was weaved, I’d swimed as dust,
Falled off the banana truck, but howled the truth.
During loudmouth withdrawal mantras prophesied mysterious napalm.
I’ve collected some points and stealed, but fough for the idea.
You see my thoughts on the paper, what you’ve wanted so much.
You can’t buy for money what creates these ideas.
Here the old-fashioned way somebody can hit in the face for buzz
Old friends – Ninja Turtles. Shells are strong, but helm rules.
It enjoys all the fucking life.
We’ve choped some wood, let’s burnt the cole.
Only we are responsible for all our acts.
Censorship hides bongs. Brother, drive us.
 
Chorus.
 
Brick Bazuka:
Come on board to us!
In this antediluvian hearse thoughts
dance incomparable in the frontal lobe.
In an aerobic coma, I feel as if blown up by a hydrogen bomb.
I go along the line of takeoff.
I fuck the sky. We twist the gun to the head,
I drink the fake whisky, and as always, one extreme or the other: car windows is 3D in IMAX.
Time, bring us up!
My look have got within a range.
The world overflow the banks, do not look for your niche in it.
Near the fire of tires everyone wants to be heard.
We need go beyong, but as lons as threads are not stripped(?), everything will not be the same as before, but we again became younger.
And it does not matter, think with extended voice in the prism of the cartoon street.
It’s a hand-to-hand combat between me and me.
From underground to Babylon.
 
Chorus.
 


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