Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Tiripe Ma 2 , by - Hichkas. Release date: 18.01.2012
Song language: Persian
Tiripe Ma 2(original) |
| هیچکس و ریویل:؛ |
| تیریپ ما ۲؛ |
| روشنفکرای خیابونی |
| بودیم گاهی حافظ، گاهی رومی |
| می و نی و حوری، صیقل روحی |
| گاهی فردوسی با چند تا خط خونی |
| بذار واست تصویر سازی کنم، مثلاً اینجوری:؛ |
| بعضی وقتا کسی کنه جیک جیک، می‌ریزه خون چیک چیک |
| ماشینا بیب بیب… خانوما جیغ جیغ…؛ |
| مامورا می‌ریزن و میگ میگ…؛ |
| میپیچن به بازی همه. |
| می‌گیرن گل |
| میشینن، میپیچن، می‌بینن شوک |
| تیریپم جرم |
| چون جوری زندگی می‌کنم که انگار می‌میرم صبح |
| ظهر محشرم. |
| جواهر رو ول کن من خود معدنم |
| حق کلی آدم گردنم. |
| آویزه گوشم هرچی پیرا حرف زدن |
| یه چند باری هم بهم دستبند زدن |
| اینه تیریپ ما، باقی ول معطلن |
| ایـــــنـــــه تـــــیـــــریـــــپ مـــــا |
| بعد چند وقت یه آهنگ مشتی شیرینه، ها؟؛ |
| بیا |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| Put your hands in the air, like you’re getting jacked by gunmen |
| Never thought you’d see me with Hichkas in London |
| From local to global the raps gonna function |
| Connect with criminal heads like trunchons |
| London where they buss guns for the lump sums |
| Corrupted from young if the slums where you come from |
| Rule number ones real simple: trust none |
| Check your history 'cos we living in a dungeon |
| London blood flows cold like the river Thames |
| So the chip on my shoulders as Big as Ben |
| On the roads youths cold and indifferent |
| Opposing soldiers patrolling in different ends |
| I was born in Iran but I grew up |
| In a city where the sun acted like he never knew us |
| A Bipolar town with several faces |
| Religious extremists and EDL racists |
| Home of corrupt bankers and thug gangsters |
| Not all of them are real though, nuff of them are wankers |
| We got everything you need on the street |
| Trees bear strange fruit like Amnesia and Cheese |
| Home of the shankman, home of the shooter |
| Overnight became home of the looter |
| Home to the Homeless home of the Hustlers |
| Must be a Londoner, 'cos I’m in love with her |
| ایـــــنـــــه تـــــیـــــریـــــپ مـــــا |
| بعد چند وقت یه آهنگ مشتی شیرینه، ها؟؛ |
| بیا |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| ایـــــنـــــه تـــــیـــــریـــــپ مـــــا |
| راه که میریم دیگه سنگین نیست، آسفالت جر می‌دیم و |
| باج نمی‌دیم هیچوقت به هیچکس تا بمیریم |
| Never settling. |
| Going for the gold medal in anything that I meddle in |
| Hardcore shit, Start war shit, Bunch of Gully Irani’s who buss the car door |
| quick |
| Your click on some Carte D’or shit. |
| Fam too sweet, too moist, you’re trying to |
| force it |
| قرصه دل، ولی فقط واسه شب ۱۴ نی |
| عالمی دارن مینالن. |
| این، ماییم که می‌زنیم حرف به وقتش |
| تنها چیزی که نداریم هم حد و مرزه |
| I slam them rap yea, Original Rudeboy, Established mad breh |
| The city gets different when it’s dark don |
| Cats on that Top Gear, I call 'em Clarkson |
| This is how we do things, This is how we moving |
| London to Tehran and back, no refuelling |
| میونه نداریم با حرف مفت و حاجیت هرچی گفت معنی کن |
| می‌فهمی ارزش داره، کم کم چند ملیونه |
| Spitting something new here, Tell 'em how we do yea |
| ایـــــنـــــه تـــــیـــــریـــــپ مـــــا |
| بعد چند وقت یه آهنگ مشتی شیرینه، ها؟؛ |
| بیا |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| ایـــــنـــــه تـــــیـــــریـــــپ مـــــا |
| (translation) |
| Nobody and Reville :; |
| Our type 2; |
| Street intellectuals |
| We were sometimes Hafez, sometimes Roman |
| Fruits, nipples and nymphs, spiritual polish |
| Sometimes Ferdowsi with a few bloodlines |
| Let me illustrate, for example:; |
| Sometimes, when someone chirps, he bleeds |
| Machine Baby Baby… Lady Scream Scream…; |
| The agents fall and Mig Mig…; |
| Turn to play everyone. |
| They take flowers |
| They sit, they twist, they see the shock |
| My type of crime |
| Because I live as if I were dying in the morning |
| Noon. |
| Drop the jewelry, I'm mine myself |
| The right of all my neck. |
| I listen to everything |
| Handcuffing me a few times |
| This is our trip, the rest is delayed |
| This is our shooting range. |
| How long after a sweet fist song, huh ?; |
| Come on |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| Put your hands in the air, like you’re getting jacked by gunmen |
| Never thought you’d see me with Hichkas in London |
| From local to global the raps gonna function |
| Connect with criminal heads like trunchons |
| London where they buss guns for the lump sums |
| Corrupted from young if the slums where you come from |
| Rule number ones real simple: trust none |
| Check your history 'cos we living in a dungeon |
| London blood flows cold like the river Thames |
| So the chip on my shoulders as Big as Ben |
| On the roads youths cold and indifferent |
| Opposing soldiers patrolling in different ends |
| I was born in Iran but I grew up |
| In a city where the sun acted like he never knew us |
| A Bipolar town with several faces |
| Religious extremists and EDL racists |
| Home of corrupt bankers and thug gangsters |
| Not all of them are real though, nuff of them are wankers |
| We got everything you need on the street |
| Trees bear strange fruit like Amnesia and Cheese |
| Home of the shankman, home of the shooter |
| Overnight became home of the looter |
| Home to the Homeless home of the Hustlers |
| Must be a Londoner, 'cos I’m in love with her |
| This is our shooting range. |
| How long after a sweet fist song, huh ?; |
| Come on |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| This is our shooting range. |
| The road we are going on is no longer heavy, we are paving the asphalt and |
| We never ransom anyone until we die |
| Never settling. |
| Going for the gold medal in anything that I meddle in |
| Hardcore shit, Start war shit, Bunch of Gully Irani’s who buss the car door |
| quick |
| Your click on some Carte D’or shit. |
| Fam too sweet, too moist, you’re trying to |
| force it |
| Heart pill, but only for the night of 14 |
| They have a world of minals. |
| This is what we are talking about in due course |
| The only thing we do not have is the limit |
| I slam them rap yea, Original Rudeboy, Established mad breh |
| The city gets different when it’s dark don |
| Cats on that Top Gear, I call 'em Clarkson |
| This is how we do things, This is how we moving |
| London to Tehran and back, no refuelling |
| We do not have the means to say anything with free speech and need |
| You see, it's worth millions |
| Spitting something new here, Tell 'em how we do yea |
| This is our shooting range. |
| How long after a sweet fist song, huh ?; |
| Come on |
| This is how we rolling, this is how we moving |
| Missing for a minute now we back on them movement |
| Spitting something new here, tell them how we do yeah |
| This is our shooting range. |