Lyrics of Bar Metrò - Don Backy

Bar Metrò (original)

Tra stanchi ferrovieri un poco buffi
notturne guardie, con grossi baffi
mandavan giùquel vino come fosse
un Dio con passi di velluto rosso
Per non pensar Domani éun altro giorno
e al puzzo di sudore in pieno inverno
che traspirava dai baveri alzati
dei loro pastranoni stazzonati
Un cameriere brutto quanto basta
ci prospettava riso, oppure pasta
sbirciava l’orologio e — si vedeva — ci odiava
E le puttane su sgabelli appollaiate
con quelle gambe certo troppo accavallate
offrivano agli sguardi di platea
la loro industria con la mercanzia
Mentre i magnaccia nei lapin impellicciati
con quei pesanti anelli grossi ed ostentati
bevendo rhum, contavano la grana
nel mentre che fumavano marjuana
Un fumo grosso si tagliava a fette
l’ora diceva quattro e zerosette
la filodiffusione diffondeva
una canzone, sì, Come pioveva
Seduti al tavolino si aspettava
il risottino, e intanto si capiva
di quanto fosse inutile parlare
di quanto fosse inutile sperare
Ci guardavamo muti dentro gli occhi
per una strada chiusa, senza sbocchi
pensando forse a un’isola lontana, lontana
Ed un barbone che sfogliava le attricette
forse sognando di palpar loro le tette
la sigaretta fatta con cartine
gli provocava tosse senza fine
Le mani vinte, sprofondate nelle tasche
ed un destino, dalle tinte troppo fosche
davanti a una schedina sfortunata
la nostra storia era così, finita

(translation)

Among tired railway workers a little funny
nocturnal guards, with big moustaches
they swallowed that wine as if it were
a God with red velvet footsteps
Not to think Tomorrow is another day
and the smell of sweat in the middle of winter
that perspired from the raised collars
of their wrinkled greatcoats
A waiter ugly enough
he promised us rice, or pasta
he glanced at his watch and — it was visible — he hated us
And the whores perched on stools
with those legs certainly too crossed
offered to the gazes of the audience
their industry with merchandise
While the pimps in lapin fur coats
with those heavy, large and ostentatious rings
drinking rum, they counted the grain
while they smoked marijuana
A large smoke was cut into slices
the time said four zero seven
the piped music was spreading
a song, yes, How it rained
Sitting at the table, they waited
risotto, and in the meantime we understood
about how useless it was to talk
than it was useless to hope
We were silently looking into each other's eyes
on a closed road, with no outlets
perhaps thinking of a distant, distant island
And a tramp who leafed through the starlets
perhaps dreaming of felling their boobs
the cigarette made with rolling papers
it caused him to cough endlessly
The won hands, sunk in the pockets
and a fate, with too gloomy hues
in front of an unlucky ticket
thus, our story was over