Salute
MellemFinga'Muzik Lyrics

Hold din ryg imod muren (muren) monfrere, monfrere.
Keep your back against the wall, my brother, my brother.

Hold dit ansigt kamofleret, monfrere monfrere.
Camouflage your face, my brother, my brother.

Alt omkring bliver sindsyg ræret, monfrere monfrere.
Everything around becomes crazily messed up, my brother, my brother.

Mellemfinga op i vejret. Monfrere, salute.
Middle finger up in the air. My brother, salute.

Folk er blevet blind nu til idags kun pga deres para. (yeaa)
People have become blind nowadays only because of their wealth.

Og folk de vil flyve nu til idags mini under vores khara, vi laver kamp i kasi.
And people want to fly nowadays, lying under our car, we fight in the ghetto.

Tro mig kuyonerne slapper ik' af, hvilken en bygning de rammer idag hvilken bank vil de dræb først sal.
Believe me, the Kuyoners won't relax. Which building will they hit today? Which bank will they rob first so they can sell drugs?

Slap af fuck pengene, fuck jer, fuck rap karriere
Relax, fuck money, fuck you, fuck rap career.

Fuck også ham Branco hvis ik' at han mener det her, min ven kan du se hvad jeg siger. Billedet af verden min verden går ned af papir.
Fuck Branco too if he doesn't mean this. My friend, can you see what I'm saying? The picture of the world, my world is going down on paper.

Holder ryggen tæt på muren, træt af systemet, de kigger, holder ud. Hvem siger næste gang ikke er min tur, til at fængsle mig og luk mig i bur, så jeg holder mig vågen.
Keeping my back close to the wall, tired of the system, they watch, I hold on. Who says next time won't be my turn to be jailed and locked up so I stay awake.

Holder min kort tæt, fortæller ik' nogen. Og vi rykker vringer, til destination. Skarp som en skit, som en fucking patron.
Holding my cards tight, not telling anyone. And we twist and turn, to the destination. Sharp as a razor, like a fucking bullet.

Hallo de der, fortæl mig. Hvad fuck er det de alle sammen forventer?
Hey you there, tell me. What the fuck do they all expect?

At vi har tænk at servere ligemange procenter. De vil ik' stop kram, som det bliver nemmere.
That we intend to serve the same percentages. They don't want to stop and hug, as it becomes easier.

Det stinker af fisker. Position den venter. Ingen mama til en trøster, heller ikke af dem som du kender.
It smells fishy. The position awaits. No mama to comfort, not even those you know.