Lyrics of Un dio personale - Salmo

Un dio personale - Salmo
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Un dio personale, artist - Salmo. Album song The Island Chainsaw Massacre, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.01.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: B.l.k. Musik
Song language: Italian

Un dio personale

(original)
Vorrei vedervi morire in fila
Vi guardo con mezzo sorriso
In mano un mezzo fondo di Tequila
È il piano divino e manda zombie missionari
Per pregare non ti basterebbero i grani dei rosari
No pietà, cuori in pietra.
La fede nel dito medio amico
Siamo come semi caduti sopra il granito
Un pervertito in sottoveste emana luce celeste
Ha le spine sulle teste.
Entro in chiesa col Winchester!
Va tutto bene!
Va tutto bene!
Per la vita disegnando croci in aria con due dita
E come ti va?
Come siete messi?
So che la vita è una puttana ho scritto i numeri su tutti i cessi!
Piogge di china, aspetto sotto con fogli bianchi
Prima che tu mi spazzi via col nome di Katrina
Prega Shiva, brama la mia trama è distruttiva
Io ho un Dio personale dentro un personal di 'bis sativa!
No compromessi (no), dagli ciò che chiedono
Registro versi nel telefono sperando che intercettino
Parlo a gesti, alfabeto Morse, chi guarda s’incanta
Rovino chi m’ascolta come i Doors, nei '70
Va tutto bene!
Va tutto bene!
Sogno scheletri e bambini morti sopra le altalene
Dio è morto invano, dio è morto in ogni essere umano
Dio è morto dentro tutte le banche del Vaticano
Va tutto bene!
Va tutto bene!
Tra i morsi delle iene siamo come Alice: in catene!
Come ti va?
Come siete messi?
So che la vita è una puttana ho scritto i numeri su tutti i cessi!
Vorrei vedervi morire uno sopra all’altro in pila
Se ti sto sul cazzo fai la fila dietro gli ottomila
Prega forte, nessun dorma, la mia salma, prendo forma
Io muoio qua, dentro due passi di libertà
Messo in modo illogico un cristo cianotico
Mi segue con lo sguardo dentro un quadro a effetto ottico
Mi pare sia tutto normale, normale
Come un prete, un minorenne e un abuso sessuale
Figli di puttana, mafia cristiana brama, conta la grana
Non vedo se l’occhio sgrana, fumo, l’angoscia mi sbrana!
Un timorato pensa a sé, il resto va da sé, perché?
Fa comodo non sapere, quindi ti dico che:
Va tutto bene!
Va tutto bene!
Se crepi tu crepo io, lo faremo insieme
E come ti va?
Siamo messi male
Senza sogni, senza fede, niente soldi, niente chiese
Un dio personale!
(translation)
I would like to see you die in line
I look at you with a half smile
Half bottom of Tequila in hand
It is the divine plan and it sends missionary zombies
Rosary beads would not be enough for you to pray
No mercy, hearts in stone.
Faith in the middle finger friend
We are like seeds fallen on granite
A pervert in a slip gives off heavenly light
He has thorns on his heads.
I enter the church with the Winchester!
Everything is alright!
Everything is alright!
For life by drawing crosses in the air with two fingers
How are you doing?
How are you doing?
I know life is a whore I wrote the numbers on all the toilets!
Rains of cinchona, I wait underneath with white sheets
Before you sweep me away with the name of Katrina
Pray to Shiva, crave my plot is destructive
I have a personal God inside a personal bis sativa!
No compromises (no), give them what they ask for
I register verses in the phone, hoping that they will intercept
I speak with gestures, Morse alphabet, whoever looks is enchanted
I ruin those who listen to me like the Doors, in the '70s
Everything is alright!
Everything is alright!
I dream of skeletons and dead children on the swings
God died in vain, god died in every human being
God died inside all the Vatican banks
Everything is alright!
Everything is alright!
Among the bites of hyenas we are like Alice: in chains!
How are you doing?
How are you doing?
I know life is a whore I wrote the numbers on all the toilets!
I would like to see you die on top of each other in the stack
If I'm on your shit, queue up behind the eight thousand
Pray loudly, let no one sleep, my body, I take shape
I die here, in two steps of freedom
Illogically put a cyanotic Christ
He follows me with his eyes inside an optical effect painting
It seems to me that everything is normal, normal
Like a priest, a minor and a sexual abuse
Sons of bitches, Christian mafia craves, count the money
I don't see if the eye widens, I smoke, anguish tears me apart!
A fearful person thinks for himself, the rest goes without saying, why?
It is convenient not to know, so I tell you that:
Everything is alright!
Everything is alright!
If you die, I die, we'll do it together
How are you doing?
We are in bad condition
Without dreams, without faith, no money, no churches
A personal god!
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