Oxxxymiron - Bipolyarochka Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Bipolar Girl

The press is fucking with our minds again, the chills and jetlag
Shove the badge and the questions up your ass, Sherlock
We give a part of ourselves to rap, like Tosin does to djent,
And we rake in the cash, tears still fresh, the year is engraved on the grave stone
 
We're asking in vain: give us all more than shelter here
Like a wanderer really waits for a flickering light of an inn
We, who are sacrificing everything for the onlookers
Those, who having finished with the ring around our neck will throw it into the muzzle*
 
And what do we get in return? Man, what's in return?
That people's love is bitter bread - a joke on an evening show
When you're poor, you have great expectations from a grand paycheck, but
Where will you go, when the paycheck can't save you, like medicinal juices could?
 
'Oxx, what are you on?
You have everything which a little underground rapper could dream of
You've left the gutters, and instead of being happy with your successes
Here is another sob story. Look at how we live,
I don't think anybody around you lives like that,
Our alcohol is cheaper than a textbook.
So if you're wining, you're a wimp like Chandler.
 
This is bigger than you, more than
Your self-examination of a useless clown, man
Remember, we went side by side together for a hundred years
We followed the same road to the same dream
 
With God's help to the end, instead of disappearing
For a few more years, send that shit away
'Hey, wuss, you won't live forever
Get yourself together! Why are you such a wimp?'
 
Yeah, you're right, but it seems
You've jumped to conclusions, guys,
In a year and a half, I've lost myself.
My friends: two are dead, one is resuscitated
 
Each step I take is under a microscope
And real talk, if I make a tiny mistake, that's it
I waited for a year to give away the throne
The crown is heavy, I'm tired of fucking everyone
 
It's that age, when you start
And you grab everything out of thin air, you're aggressive to adults.
Remember? My home was a drifting island
And my only possessions were helium and air
 
Don't write - 'Oxx, let your hair grow long'
After three years of being in the press, I've gone bald
And I would love to leave, but I can't let my friends down
My conscience won't let me
 
From my oral area
Must emerge a new poem and be flow-plastid
Seem like a pop-artist, but still an MC
Big boss, CEO, that feeds his team
 
A kind son, down to earth
An Oxford graduate, but nobody gives a fuck
You, catcher in the rye, laugh while you're above the abyss
The motto on Crawley's arm says 'God Forgives'**
 
MC frienemies are circling
Dancing round my dead body
But I'm a live corpse, being strangled by my own flesh
If you stab me - I'll bust my gut
 
So keep flowing, you gypsy song
Don't know what I've become, used to be a nerdy kid,
But I'm not sad, I don't care,
Because my bipolar girl loves me...
 


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