Nie ma takiego numeru Lyrics (English Translation) – Bober

Read the full Nie ma takiego numeru (English Translation) lyrics by Bober along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song.

[Intro: Shhieda, Bober]
Hey, Bober, I wanted to be a rapper, and I’m just submitting an application. Will you help me fill it out?
But why me, I have no idea about it.
Well, you have some success there, man.
Yeah, I’m fu*king successful, because I didn’t.

[Verse 1: Shhieda, Bober, Shhieda and Bober]
First of all, read the documents carefully, because you’ll be as surprised as White.
But how? It’s not like they just want to make money off me.
You young one, at the beginning of your journey, everyone is a fu*king “good guy.”
You tour the country, then there’s money, and there was family, and then there’s nothing, bye, bye.
Uh, what about the image? Do I have to have spikes on my head?

No, but you can, Kendrick is a crown of thorns.
And when you’re a crooked man like Bob, don’t worry, a bag will do.
Or maybe a dress, I’ll take whatever I want. And that’s how they apologized to Deys after years.
You take it, stop it, it works best when you scroll through some nickname.
Quebonafide, Quebonafide, Taco, Quebo, Taconafide
And we’re changing the cumine (Okay)
You steal a dude’s feat, and then the girl.
It would be best if I did it on stream.
You, you’re a head case, sonny (Haha…)
You, what am I supposed to do if I’m fu*king bad and the punches aren’t coming?
Learn to fu*k around, rap today starts and ends in a cage.
How can you be a dangerous guy who carries brass knuckles buried in a trowel?
And in the other hand, papers on your dudes, like he wants to be some fu*king policeman?

[Interlude: Shhieda, Bober]
-Uh, don’t worry about that, a b!tch’s morality is fluid.
-Uh, okay, but I still don’t know what to write here.
-Where?
-Here.
-Where?
Here, bro.
-What is this?
-Are you committing to a narcissistic self-interest? That’s yeah (Yeah, yeah, yeah…)
-Are you going to live by the rules you rap in your own songs? That’s no (No)
-Uh, what about this? I’m committing to keeping everything I’ve seen on some P. Diddy secret?

-And this, this, man, you have to sign this.
-And this? Is real hip-hop about fu*king wh*res and taking drügs?

[Verse 2: Shhieda, Bober]
Uh, man, of course it is.
And Kali eats, Kali drinks, Kali steals.
Is this really what this world is like?
(Pff) Basically, it’s like this, look.
Either you’ll succeed because you’re driven, have a rather nice face.
Or you’re a pu*sy and don’t like everyone like Marcin Flint.
Who?
It’s not an important nuance.
And where should I look for girls?
Because I heard that rap is best when there’s a stupid c*nt and a big ass.
Maybe near Konin, where one of them sleeps every hour.
You, what am I going to do with her there?
He recorded you expanding your family.
But what am I going to tell my mom, I’m hanging out with a wh*re and I sold my soul?
The important thing is that you built her a house with it and you’re eating breakfast on the twelfth floor.
And promoting?
That’s fu*ked up to say the least, remember deleting
Everything on Instagram? Yeah, and never be afraid to record with a chestnut.

[Outro: Shhieda, Bober]
Or you know what, fu*k this card, fu*k this rap game, fu*k the posers.
Fu*k the narratives like “I’m a Sigma, I’m the most important, I’ll walk over dead bodies to the goal.”
Fu*k you, your friend, fu*k your mom, and the pseudo-hustlers.
But kid, don’t be afraid, there’s no one in this country.
There’s no such number.