Translation of the song lyrics Drabant - Tommy Tee, Jesse Jones, Chirag

Drabant (original)

Je-Jesse Jones, jeg kommer fra Drabantbyen
Ber dem sette seg på livet mitt er vanskelig
Velkommen til Oslo shit, det skjer i hovedstaden
Feite biler og dop til lille Groruddalen
Den her går ut til alle de som pusher pakker
Jesse Jones han er kriminell svarting
Jeg er mitt Ken Ring, jeg er kjenning, jeg er spenning
Hip-Hop i Oslo den tar en annen vending, helt annen tenning
Vi er på andre tanker
Gjør det her for de som henger i Drabantbyen
Svart hette, svarte hansker
Ber dem sette seg på livet mitt er vanskelig
En ting som vi sier er for alltid
Knull politi, gjør penger og ta sjanser
Har det de trenger, har det som fenger
Men vi klakker, det er penga som snakker
Det er Jesse, du kjenner meg fra traktene
De er ikke vant med drabanstilen som jeg brakte med
Hva faen
Faen, ærre du?
Jeg trodde det var snut, jeg
Öppna dörren, det är Ken Ring
Jag lever livet med husslandet som instinkt
Så jävla skönt att en till har kommit in
Hela Oslo, stanna upp, stå still
Det är farligt, du bränner fingertopparna
Laddar hela natten, åker hem och käkar ropparna
Betongblock, runt om där jag bor
Nu kom dom, fuck alla andra bror
Mitt i Stovner, jag ligger där och snurrar
I en splitter ny bil med Jesse Jones och bara flummar
Pundar undan det innbringar laxingar, backa bort när du ser dessa svartingar
Stänger av beatet for att röka mitt weed… ni vet hur det går till!
On the average night, I’m likely to stab a fag with a knife
That’s when I’m chilling, imagine when I’m mad what it’s like
Damn right it’s a disasterous sight
Why you think I’ve been in prison more than half of my life (my life)
Wolves, bloods and crips, duckin' the digs
We don’t like basketball, but still fuck with the knicks
Dimes, twenties, fifties and bricks
Summer art though, if the bitch need a fix, it’s triple the tips
Do whatever it takes, the fakes, I can never relate
Ya’ll can chill as long as my cheddar is straight
But if I’m broke, shit, I’mma load the beretta with eight
Show y’all niggas my gun game is better than great
Little crack baby, ignorant son of a black lady
Who never bothered to teach you cause the bitch was that shady
I never leave home without the guns (ah)
It’s Saigon, and motherfucking Jess Jones
I’m gone

Drabant (translation)

Je-Jesse Jones, I come from Drabantbyen
Asking them to sit on my life is difficult
Welcome to Oslo shit, it's happening in the capital
Fat cars and drugs to little Groruddalen
This one goes out to all those who push packages
Jesse Jones he is criminal black man
I am my Ken Ring, I am knowledge, I am excitement
Hip-Hop in Oslo it takes a different turn, completely different ignition
We are having second thoughts
Do it here for those hanging out in Drabantbyen
Black hood, black gloves
Asking them to sit on my life is difficult
One thing we say is forever
Fuck cops, make money and take chances
Have what they need, have what appeals
But we clap, it's the money that talks
It's Jesse, you know me from the streets
They are not used to the drab style that I brought
What the hell
Damn, are you?
I thought it was snot, me
Open the door, it's Ken Ring
I live life with the home country as an instinct
So damn nice that one more has come in
All of Oslo, stop, stand still
It's dangerous, you'll burn your fingertips
Charges all night, goes home and eats the roe
Concrete block, around where I live
Now come judgment, fuck everyone else brother
In the middle of Stovner, I lie there and spin
In a split new car with Jesse Jones och bara flummar
Pound away it brings laxing, back away when you see these answers
Stopping the beat to smoke my weed… you know how it goes!
On the average night, I'm likely to stab a fag with a knife
That's when I'm chilling, imagine when I'm mad what it's like
Damn right it's a disastrous sight
Why you think I've been in prison more than half of my life (my life)
Wolves, bloods and crips, duckin' the digs
We don't like basketball, but still fuck with the knicks
Dimes, twenties, fifties and bricks
Summer art though, if the bitch needs a fix, it's triple the tips
Do whatever it takes, the fakes, I can never relate
Ya'll can chill as long as my cheddar is straight
But if I'm broke, shit, I'mma load the beretta with eight
Show y'all niggas my gun game is better than great
Little crack baby, ignorant son of a black lady
Who never bothered to teach you cause the bitch was that shady
I never leave home without the guns (ah)
It's Saigon, and motherfucking Jess Jones
I'm gone