Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bastavano Le Briciole, artist - Marracash. Album song Marracash, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2007
Record label: Universal Music Italia
Song language: Italian
Bastavano Le Briciole(original) |
Quando rubarono il camion a mio padre ci rimasi male |
Ce l’ho impresso, non l’avevo mai visto depresso |
Stavamo in centro, casa di ringhiera, piena di immigrati |
Senza i sanitari, uscivo per andare al cesso |
Per un po' restò disoccupato |
Stava al bar sotto casa coi Campari a tenersi occupato |
Faceva briscole coi paesani |
Con gli occhi rossi per il fumo e gli amari |
Io ero alle elementari |
Ed ero in classe coi bimbi fortunati |
Coi dindi nei salvadanai e i genitori educati |
E io, fra', stavo coi figli d’immigrati, coi figli di operai |
Mi vergognavo, i miei erano ignoranti |
Mi vergognavo del dialetto |
E mi prendevo con gli altri al parchetto |
Se le prendevo, lui mi dava il resto |
A darmele era sempre mia madre |
Io fingevo, ma in realtà, a quell’età, ormai già non mi faceva male |
Thermos di caffè, sei valigie in tre |
So che non potrò scordarlo mai |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Oh, qualche estate fa, salutavo i fra' |
E da giugno a settembre ero lì |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Nessuno pagava un cazzo nel mio palazzo, e ci arrivò lo sfratto |
E su mia madre ebbe un brutto impatto |
Era venuta a Milano sognando una casa privata |
E ora stava alla Barona, dietro una risaia |
E io diventai grande in un lampo |
Perché alle medie volavano sedie |
E le bestemmie coi pugni sul banco |
E ognuno si prendeva ciò che non aveva |
L’aria tesa per due sguardi |
Il pretesto, la scusa: «c'hai moneta?» |
No, e poi facevi a pugni |
Scappare è da conigli |
Le sigarette, biciclette, motorini |
Poi la sera coi più grandi ascoltavamo le imprese dei miti |
E imparavamo ad odiare gli sbirri |
E nel quartiere non hai niente, ma hai i veri amici |
Non possedere ti rallenta, ma puoi riuscirci |
Ed ogni anno andavo sempre in ferie giù in Sicilia |
In uno diesel, solo allora rivedevo mio padre felice |
Thermos di caffè, sei valigie in tre |
So che non potrò scordarlo mai |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Oh, qualche estate fa, salutavo i fra' |
E da giugno a settembre ero lì |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Erano gli anni '90, Milano era un’altra |
Lì ho capito già che i miei non ce l’avevano fatta |
E la scuola era una pacchia, iscritto all’ITIS |
Eravamo veri animali, veri esauriti |
Ed un paio d’anni ce li persi lo stesso, cazzate in strada |
Appresso ad altri quattro scappati di casa |
Scappati non si intende letteralmente |
A casa non mi è mai mancato né l’affetto né niente |
Se dai poveri ho imparato a fare i contanti |
Dai ricchi, poi, a reinvestirli e farne altri |
E dai poveri a parlare come mangi |
Ma è dai ricchi che ho imparato a scegliere i ristoranti |
Ed io e i miei non siamo mai stati uguali |
Chissà com'è che pensavo che non aveste niente da insegnarmi |
Sono cresciuto senza mai accontentarmi |
Chissà com'è che ora non trovo il modo per ringraziarvi |
Thermos di caffè, sei valigie in tre |
So che non potrò scordarlo mai |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Oh, qualche estate fa, salutavo i fra' |
E da giugno a settembre ero lì |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
Bastavano le briciole |
(Andavo giù in Sicilia in uno diesel) |
(translation) |
When my father's truck was stolen, I was upset |
I imprinted it on it, I had never seen him depressed |
We were in the center, a railing house, full of immigrants |
Without the toilets, I would go out to go to the toilet |
For a while he was unemployed |
He was at the bar downstairs with the Campari to keep himself busy |
He made trumps with the villagers |
With red eyes from smoke and bitters |
I was in elementary school |
And I was in class with the lucky kids |
With dindi in piggy banks and educated parents |
And I, brother, was with the children of immigrants, with the children of workers |
I was ashamed, mine were ignorant |
I was ashamed of the dialect |
And I took myself to the park with the others |
If I took them, he gave me the change |
It was always my mother who gave them to me |
I pretended, but in reality, at that age, it already didn't hurt me |
Thermos of coffee, six suitcases in three |
I know I can never forget it |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
Oh, a few summers ago, I used to say goodbye to the brothers |
And from June to September I was there |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
Nobody paid a shit in my building, and we got the eviction |
And it had a bad impact on my mother |
She had come to Milan dreaming of a private home |
And she was now in the Barona, behind a rice paddy |
And I became big in a flash |
Because in junior high chairs flew |
And the cursing with fists on the counter |
And everyone took what he didn't have |
The tense air for two glances |
The pretext, the excuse: "Do you have money?" |
No, and then you were fighting |
Running away is for rabbits |
Cigarettes, bicycles, mopeds |
Then in the evening with the older ones we listened to the exploits of the myths |
And we learned to hate cops |
And you have nothing in the neighborhood, but you have real friends |
Not owning slows you down, but you can do it |
And every year I always went on vacation down to Sicily |
In a diesel, only then did I see my happy father again |
Thermos of coffee, six suitcases in three |
I know I can never forget it |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
Oh, a few summers ago, I used to say goodbye to the brothers |
And from June to September I was there |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
It was the 90s, Milan was another |
There I already realized that my parents hadn't made it |
And the school was a godsend, enrolled in the ITIS |
We were real animals, real exhausted |
And a couple of years I lost them anyway, bullshit in the street |
Attached to four other runaways |
Run away is not meant literally |
At home I have never lacked affection or anything |
If I learned from the poor to make cash |
From the rich, then, to reinvest them and make others |
And from the poor to talk as you eat |
But it is from the rich that I learned to choose restaurants |
And my parents and I have never been the same |
Who knows how I thought you had nothing to teach me |
I grew up never satisfied |
Who knows how now I can't find a way to thank you |
Thermos of coffee, six suitcases in three |
I know I can never forget it |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
Oh, a few summers ago, I used to say goodbye to the brothers |
And from June to September I was there |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |
The crumbs were enough |
(I was going down to Sicily in a diesel) |