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Genius English Translations - Sch Calabre English Translation Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Hooded under the hail, bad ideas are born, the streets plant the seed (Plant the seed)
The brain bogged down by problems nonexistent to most
The more I age, the more these guys disgust me, we only realize once it's too late (Too late)
Nothing is true anymore, everything is redone, they won't take to heaven all the harm they did to me
Those to whom I've donе good say nothing, those whom I've bruised don't talk about it much, in thе end, we all end up in the same box, so be it
I fill up the magazine with my left hand, I caress her face with my right
I spent a few nights on Avenue Foch, known until the Earth seems narrow to me
Artisanal music, written with my guts, subject to the same pain from back when I was waiting for the drip
Need a road-trip, to take all the money, to get a grip
I saw my father die of his lungs and liver, it started from the flu
Between the bastards that want I don't even know what from me and those that want to teach me my job
Keep your advice, me, I've dedicated my heart in full
I carry some indelible stigmas, may God forgive me for leading this crusade
Heavy is the burden, opaque is the other side of the coin, but I came in a raft

[Chorus]
Macabre, there are devious people at my table, I've got a hematoma-colored heart
Blood flows on the macadam, what wouldn't we do for the money?
From the Southern hoods to the Aygalades, .38 under the coats, words of Sicily or Calabria

[Verse 2]
I push in the blade, as you can see, not much of a soul (Scoundrel)
I didn't sound the alarm, I didn't make a single tear flow
An entire hippodrome in the motor, need to hold the wheel like Statham
Hold the gun like a looper, a million to burn this Havana
I smell the Tramontane, death like in my hometown
I see my hood in the mountains, murder has become ordinary
Multiple choices are possible (All), the voices of Good or the voices of Evil (of Evil)
A car sprayed with unleaded burning not far from the tribunal
[Chorus]
Macabre, there are devious people at my table, I've got a hematoma-colored heart
Blood flows on the macadam, what wouldn't we do for the money?
From the Southern hoods to the Aygalades, .38 under the coats, words of Sicily or Calabria

[Outro]
Those to whom I've done good say nothing, those whom I've bruised don't talk about it much, in the end, we all end up in the same box, so be it
I fill up the magazine with my left hand, I caress her face with my right
I spent a few nights on Avenue Foch, known until the Earth seems narrow to me