Fabri Fibra Niente Di Personale English Translation song by Genius English Translations from Primary Album Album not found. The music is composed and produced by Joel. Genre is English Translation, Rap music. The Record company is unknown. Released on March 24, 2014.
The video came from: Youtube
Fabri Fibra Niente Di Personale English Translation Meaning
| [[Intro] Yo, can you make… Can you make the metric like in his song? You ain’t got the rhymes, nor the style, you’ve got lame lyrics You’re as worth as a gossip magazine This one here is the proof that you’re not a true artist In Italy, in Jamaica, you’re just a tourist You’re trapped between these two worlds In both cases you stand still, you don’t make it big There’s someone who defends you, but then, quietly They dream of rapping on stage with me You run away from Italy ’cause of problems with taxes Evеn Baby K rejected you from hеr album Everyone comments every single word I’m fighting with my brother, okay, so what? This metric of yours that I’m using sucks So let’s stop Download for free and go fuck yourself, download for free and go fuck yourself [Verse 1] Fabri Fibra Ah I don’t understand why you’re talking so much shit If you pass me the mic, I’m gonna fucking beat you up I know you had a dream, now you can say goodbye to it Milan has changed since I got there I remember like it was yesterday First place in the top chart, the money, real money They wanted to meet me in every neighborhood And you, silent, while I was taking pictures I felt your eyes on me every fucking minute You said: “I’m doing an album” I thought: “Help!” Nobody noticed, like he was crying wolf You didn’t make it, you didn’t sell You’re answering me because you know that it’s true what I wrote on Zombie Loser, what did you make up? Fritz made an album, you weren’t invited Del made an album, you weren’t invited We’re another State (Ahahahahah) Not even fans in the kindergarten Mind your fucking business, you’re like Craxi in exile Give up rap and stay among the fishes With your money, in Italy, you can’t get to the end of the month You can’t, not even close We could organize for you a Vacca Extreme Makeover Home Edition , [Bridge] Move that bus, move that bus Move that bus, move that bus New album’s out soon, Squallor New album by Fabri Fibra (New album by Fabri Fibra) From the scene for the scene Universal, Tempi Duri (Tempi Duri) This is the album of the year, eh This… This is the album of the year Ah, I can feel it, ah Enough, enough with this shit, put on one of my beats Ah, before we start, do you have anything to say to me? Go fuck yourself! Ahahaha [Verse 2] Ah, who’s on Guè’s album, Bravo Ragazzo? There’s Vacca? No, there’s Fibra, you asshole Sick rhymes, my flow fucks you, gets in and gets out You’ve just a little left like who’s got AIDS Good-for-nothing rappers, I see you, you’re listening I am always in your worst nightmares With no house, no money I wouldn’t want to live your life even for two seconds Only who’s stupid is not afraid People at first say my name, then they self-censor The basic rules: one, sell records, two, play live, three, beat the check Who are the guys that failed with rap? I want names Yours is surely the first on the list Desperate MCs, desperate producers Maybe Internet confused your mind You don’t remember? I said, if you see that I’m silent and that I don’t call you That’s because I’m counting cash Rappers envy me, but they won’t tell you You couldn’t do what I’ve done even if you lived four lives Gangsta, gangsta, always online You’re not a gangsta, you look like a hacker I’ve four bathrooms in my house, you know where I live If you come I’m going to put your face in the toilet I’ll send this guys on a brain coma From Marche to the north, the flavor is sour You fall down on the beat and you crash your head This flow is macabre, like boom, Schumacher , [Interlude] Give me another beat [Verse 3] Get in the intercourse, suck this lyrics Vacca says: “Cum in my mouth”, I say: “Too soon” People want to see blood, here it is, it comes from Vacca, why? ‘Cause he’s on his period; my family Didn’t respect me, now I live in a villa And you get your tongue off the ass of Emis Killa You can’t sell a record and, out of desperation, you post photos of you fishing with your daughter Come on, are you serious? You never succeeded in anything Just like these rappers that are still listening to this song While they write about it on Facebook My show, eighty minutes, Alcatraz, sold out What are you making up? Bla, bla, bla Your show reminds me of a song from The Syndrome Scratch and scratch You get personal, like “He doesn’t fuck” Should I get worried? Your rap is harmless It’s all fake, I smile while in my room I’m banging this lesbian pregnant pornstar Today, your miserable career ends I get some Viagra and I come to fuck up your life I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone You’re a kept man, with no job in Kingston Brother, these rappers pump up their sales By doing four-hundred and fifty-thousands in-store I live in Milan, but it feels like I’m a foreigner ‘Cause I grew up listening to Sangue Misto Never been in debt, I pay the taxes and I work Like a real man I only have credits, people like you That always talk about me to get some promo , [Interlude] Am I doing good? Go fuck yourself! [Verse 4] Christmas dinner, Vacca is in a bad mood I sit at the table, a kind family His mother asks me why I’m always alone Then she says: “Thanks to you, today he has a job” I tell her: “You know, ma’am, I do my best It’s a difficult environment A lot of people try take advantage of you and to bug you” His mother interrupts me and tells Vacca: “Ale, look! On TV there’s that singer that looks like you” I turn back and on MTV, appears Lil Wayne Vacca jumps on the couch and start yelling: “Young Money! Voodoo Smokers Familia! Racket! Jamaica! Rap! Mum!”, ah The fuck is he talking about? And what the fuck am I doing here? You’re not on my CD, to tell you the truth You’re dead to me, when I hear your voice it seems like It’s coming from the afterlife, ah Just like a seance People that did nothing in their life and then criticize you Vaccaleaks, the sensationalist magazine The life of a loser is fucking heavy Especially for a stoner, for seven years I’ve been hiding a dead girl in my closet, and you’re the next one Fabrizio is a self-made man I pulverize you and the Jamaicans snort you [Interlude] Yeah [Verse 5] Rap is like cinema, clapperboard, are you ready? Gun in my hand, reload and shoot, bang, you’re buried Let’s pray for this kid, who left us Go fuck yourself!, amen Describe me a dissing: rope around your neck, pull This here is not a dissing: this is your funeral The beat is the mass: everyone’s listening Friends and relatives praying, you ask: “Who died?” But nobody can hear you, you look in the mirror, but you’re not there You run towards the mic, but you just go through it Life is a movie, hi Slimer: Ghostbusters Yours is not interesting, you shut down: Blockbuster [Hook] I attract so many faces So many enemies I know you’re talking about me Who knows what you’re saying You’re hungry, who knows what you’re saying Rat, who knows what you’re saying You talk about me? You don’t know what you’re saying Zzzzzz, electric shears [Bridge] Murder! Murder! Kill! Kill! Murder! Murder! Kill! Kill! [Verse 6] As soon as they get off the stage They start to speak ill of me Ungrateful, I look at them from the top Him and that other guy Ungrateful Him and that other guy Ten grams and I’ll kill you too Every ten years, in sections of three Nod to the rhythm, the rhymes are a blade Zac! Blood, red like a bandana I drink it, like a satanic ritual While radios put on Panico This world is esoteric Rap skyrockets, come on, thanks to whom? My album, Italy Your album, imitates You make a tour in Italy, yes, but the taxmen limit you And to people telling me: “He’s just an asshole” I answer: “He was, in the past” Rest in peace [Hook] I attract so many faces So many enemies I know you’re talking about me Who knows what you’re saying You’re hungry, who knows what you’re saying Rat, who knows what you’re saying You talk about me? You don’t know what you’re saying Zzzzzz, electric shears [Verse 7] The title of my fourth album is like you, Liar An ocean of shit, you’re drowning I’m hear watching you Blublublublublu… Goodbye, drown, disappear R.I.P. asshole Stage name, name on stage Proof of style, yours is your last name What the fuck did you thought, that I was doing a roll call? The rap scene opens her legs I’m pulling my dick out Then I get in, it’s a mess You signed with a major, thanks to whom? That’s the best part, double me Sing the hook [Bridge] I attract so many faces, so many enemies Was it good, Fabri? Yes, that’s good, you’re a good singer Yes, but on Rolling Stone… Yes, I know, on Rolling Stone, when they asked me if I liked your songs I told them I was more of a friend of yours than a real fan, and you took it personal But you just can’t go around talking shit about me on every interview Dissing me, you’ve got my number, call me Stop trying to get some promo with my name [Hook] I attract so many faces So many enemies I know you’re talking about me Who knows what you’re saying You’re hungry, who knows what you’re saying Rat, who knows what you’re saying You talk about me? You don’t know what you’re saying Zzzzzz, electric shears [Outro] Then, if, like… You can’t listen to what the fuck… I just can’t let the first guy that feels like it talking shit about me And disrespecting me, after all I’ve done But excuse me, who’s the one that on every interview pumps Italian rap up in every way? These guys? Go fuck yourself, man Come on] |
