Don Backy — Bar Metrò song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Bar Metrò" by Don Backy.
Lyrics
Tra stanchi ferrovieri un poco buffi
notturne guardie, con grossi baffi
mandavan giùquel vino come fosse
un Dio con passi di velluto rosso
Per non pensar Domani éun altro giorno
e al puzzo di sudore in pieno inverno
che traspirava dai baveri alzati
dei loro pastranoni stazzonati
Un cameriere brutto quanto basta
ci prospettava riso, oppure pasta
sbirciava l’orologio e — si vedeva — ci odiava
E le puttane su sgabelli appollaiate
con quelle gambe certo troppo accavallate
offrivano agli sguardi di platea
la loro industria con la mercanzia
Mentre i magnaccia nei lapin impellicciati
con quei pesanti anelli grossi ed ostentati
bevendo rhum, contavano la grana
nel mentre che fumavano marjuana
Un fumo grosso si tagliava a fette
l’ora diceva quattro e zerosette
la filodiffusione diffondeva
una canzone, sì, Come pioveva
Seduti al tavolino si aspettava
il risottino, e intanto si capiva
di quanto fosse inutile parlare
di quanto fosse inutile sperare
Ci guardavamo muti dentro gli occhi
per una strada chiusa, senza sbocchi
pensando forse a un’isola lontana, lontana
Ed un barbone che sfogliava le attricette
forse sognando di palpar loro le tette
la sigaretta fatta con cartine
gli provocava tosse senza fine
Le mani vinte, sprofondate nelle tasche
ed un destino, dalle tinte troppo fosche
davanti a una schedina sfortunata
la nostra storia era così, finita
Lyrics translation
Among tired railway workers a little funny
night guards with big moustaches
they sent down that wine like it was
a God with steps of Red Velvet
To not think tomorrow is another day
and the smell of sweat in the middle of winter
that breathed from the raised lapels
of their stoned pastranoni
A waiter ugly enough
he was looking for rice, or pasta
he peered at the clock and — you could see-hated us
And whores on stools perched
with those legs certainly too overlapping
they offered to the audience glances
their industry with merchandise
While the pimps in the entangled Lapins
with those heavy, big, ostentatious rings
drinking rum, they counted the grain
while smoking marijuana
A big smoke cut into slices
the hour said four and zerosette
the philodiffusion spread
a song, yes, as it rained
Sitting at the coffee table expected
the risottino, and meanwhile you could understand
how useless it was to talk
than it was useless to hope
We looked dumb inside our eyes
for a closed road, without outlets
thinking maybe a far, far island
And a homeless man flipping through the actresses
maybe dreaming of groping their tits
the cigarette made with maps
it caused him to cough endlessly
Hands won, plunging into the pockets
and a fate, with shades too dim
in front of an unlucky card
our story was like this, over.