Polskie tłumaczenia Genius
Quebonafide - Bollywood (English Translation)
[Intro: Quebonafide]
Cause what excites us is called money
And dolls in heels, rides, rags and gambling
Cause what excites us is sometimes even sex
Mi casa es su casa imma party like a sheik

[Verse 1: Quebonafide]
Off the banknote Mahatma Gandhi grins
I walk out of the pawn shop folding the banknote files like a sandwich
These bankote are an occasion, that’s what I repeat like a mantra
So if you want to point something out to me, ask my relatives if I ever lied
It’s for everyone who wants to change for the better
I tried a billion times and it didn’t matter
Now I ain’t gon’ share what I got for the rupees
I had the nerve to share what I make a minute
Karma strikes back, despite the money I feel poor again
You get what you work for, that’s how life spits in yo’ face
I maunder down the slums, here I’ll spend the night
And then all I own will be my curse (I’m going mad)
Wherever I look I see them shoes made in Asian factories
I don’t even know: Is there still something worth fighting for?
I want a peace of mind but all I have is pain like hell
So say what am I to do? Maybe walk bare-fuckin’- foot?
Everywhere these worn faces, swollen hands
I look at folks and I congeal like an image
Thinking by the way, what really is my happiness?
This cheerful chorus plays on Bollywood’s other side
[Chorus: Czeslaw Mozil]
Where did all these Bollywood smiles go?
Why isn’t anyone dancing here?
If life’s hurtin’, well Look down on these colorful Nikes
All around these holy cows
And people’s fate turns to pasture
Welcome to the land of thousand gods
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone

[Verse 2: Quebonafide]
Off the banknote Mahatma Gandhi grins
A beggar asks for spares by this luxury Audi
Some here say, your enemy’s joy is your sorrow
I’ve heard many gods, Vishnu said it ain’t good
Next to New Delhi starvation is like a penalty
‘Round each corner, I didn’t come her to take a selfie
I’d change the modus cause that is the real Mexico
One circles free like a bird, cause people are vultures
No respect, no smile, no reward
‘Round me figures skinnier than on the covers of Vogue
They be askin’ for a bite as if for one day longer
One kid pulls my hoodie: “Are you the Guardian Angel?”
No! I’m the coward who was afraid to help
Now I can’t look into eyes of folks like you
Cause here, eyes are askin’, bodies beggin’
I’m ashamed of myself that sometimes I don’t finish a meal
Am ashamed when I say “rapper” when these fags burn the banknotes
Women look as if we were to throw diamonds under their feet
Just like A’isha, she prays to the heavens barefoot
Dressed in cashmere, at night someone raped her like an item
Play!
[Chorus: Czeslaw Mozil]
Where did all these Bollywood smiles go?
Why isn’t anyone dancing here?
If life’s hurtin’, well Look down on these colorful Nikes
All around these holy cows
And people’s fate turns to pasture
Welcome to the land of thousand gods
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone
Where there ain’t enough god for everyone

[Outro: Quebonafide]
Chewing paan i stare at this dirty note
We in the cab again
Thousands thoughts a minute, all deafened by a horn
Jasmin in the air, incense with miraculous smell
Hare Krishna I wear no moro, i ain’t got no gun in my hand
Off the bank note grins Mahatma Gandhi Everyone fights like a sick fuck, think:
Every hour in the heart of India somebody drops dead Every second ladies with bindi turn into loot
No need to know hindi to understand sorrow I had the nerve to share what I make a minute