BLAH! (x5) English Translation Lyrics by Articolo 31
Article 31 is–
Three-Three-Thirty-One, yeah
But-But-But-But-Hands up, hands up
Go Jad
J-J-J-J-J-Ax
I was a country kid, like Borgo Tre Case
With heavy metal, mosquitoes, and Sunday Mass
Fields of blood-red wheat with the witches of Salem
Tattooed types with pagan deities
I love them because they don’t go to the bathroom hand in hand
To powder their noses like those in Milan
But at the shady bar that offers me a round of Alvarado
Because I’m loved around here, so no, I don’t carry a weapon
I don’t have a gun or even the truth
I have an Opinel, two Tavors, and four Platinum Cards
I see myself as old but stylish
I see my glass as half full and yours as half empty
Malamilano gave me the values
That’s why you never see us striking gangster poses
Only a fool doesn’t see it can only go two ways:
Either you end up in jail or you die
We’ve elevated ourselves, so get lost, get lost from my ass
Lambo, Cracco, and SPA are in debt
Ten bodyguards or they get beaten up
I come and smash the club, but they don’t rap
“Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah” and then they run away
E-E-E-E now the-the-the Maximum Pe-Pe-Pericolo (Ah)
This is the big story of how I started rapping
Actually, no, that’s not true
It’s the story of when I used to tell tales of weed and grime
Actually, no, that’s not true either
It’s also the story of honest work
And many other things I’ve done for better or worse over time
They made me this, eh
Do you get what kind of tricks I’m pulling?
It’s my job, and I do it better than anyone else
Mainly because I’m the only one left doing it
I drink alcohol, that’s all I do, I’m not stuck
And these girls love me more than their boyfriends
I have more groupies than a rock band
Still don’t give a fuck, straight outta Cocquio
I smoke you with the Bic like I smoke and cocco, oops
A masked brother sells it in the block
Who roams with a dagger like Zorro
Fighting the world like Article
Ma-Ma-Ma-Massimo Pericolo
They talk too much, I don’t hear what they’re saying
“Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah” until they pull them away
Lambo, Cracco, and SPA are in debt
Ten bodyguards or they get beaten up
I come and smash the club, but they don’t rap
“Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah” and then they run away
The public housing among factories and fields
Grandma makes ragù with Bambi’s mom
We arrived with rap, but we come from the country
Where we process meat but not traumas, yeah
Where the Articles stay at their best like Pericolo
They train in the gym, but also at the range
They smoke weed, eat salami
Antibodies for the fakes only capable of boasting
Lambo, Cracco, and SPA are in debt
Ten bodyguards or they get beaten up
I come and smash the club, but they don’t rap
“Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah” and then they run away
E-E up-
E-E up-suck-suck-suck-suck-suck