Suprême NTM
Paris Sous Le Bombes

THE REVIEW

Maybe it's just me, but when I'm happy & content, I like to hear angry people. The majority of the world's population thinks "angry = Metal". Nonsense, absolute nonsense. RAP is the angriest, most furious, and violent genre in all of music. There's no doubt about it, they're the angry ones here.

You can talk to me all you want about demons, witches, curses, cannibalism, death, and destruction; all very nice, very scenic, but they're just fantasies and/or mental ramblings. I like these ramblings a lot, but don't tell me it's bad stuff. Cannibal Corpse... Carcass... oohh what tough guys, then you see them offstage and they're the nicest people in the world.

These guys, they're called FOTTI TUA MADRE. I don't know if I've made myself clear, FOTTI TUA MADRE. Wizards and witches don't exist, your mother does, so if I tell you FOTTI TUA MADRE, I think I'm a bit more wicked and threatening than "I'll eat your heart." How the hell do you think you'll eat my heart, huh? Come on, don't say bullshit, it's better. But if I want to, and assuming that your mother isn't that bad, I would definitely do her, and you'd feel bad about it, you'd feel so damn bad.

Paris under bombs. Paris... not Middle-earth, no wizards, elves, or other crap, Paris. And bombs were there at the time and they're still there. Everywhere, not just in Paris. Anger, rage, the desire to smash faces, to kill someone, to really hurt, but really hurt though. Wanna hit every cop's son, and when they're bleeding, picking their teeth off the pavement, you tell them "and for this, thank that son of a bitch father of yours, cop's son, go home and cry, shit."... this is what FOTTI TUA MADRE reminds me of.

God, what a fantastic name, FOTTI TUA MADRE. Paris under bombs, Milan under bombs, London under bombs. Real life, real anger, real desire to vent and go out and kick someone's ass just because you think he doesn't get it. Maybe he's right, maybe he's not to blame, maybe it's not even his fault. But he's in your way. And you take him down, you break everything breakable. But not because you like it, just because they force you (yeah right...). You hurt him, and then, on top of that, you fuck his mom. Where the hell do you find such wickedness? Huh? I've never heard of metalheads or rockers shooting each other, never heard of a serious rapper (underline SERIOUS) who doesn’t brag about having shot at least two or three people?

Right now I'm happy and content for my own damn business, really happy and really content, and listening to angry people makes me feel good, because they are angry, and I'm not.

Paris is under bombs? I don't give a damn, in Codrongianos the sun is shining, you know how much I couldn't care less about Paris. I don't care because it's my bad side prevailing right now, I'm thinking about my own shit, and I'm listening to other people's shit, and in the meantime, I fuck your mother. Yes, yes, precisely yours. This is anger, this is wickedness, this is a message of violence, even if without much logic. Because in the end in what they say, there's lots of truth, but also plenty of bullshit. But I don't give a damn, after all, I'll fuck even their moms, and I'll ram those bombs right up their ass.

NTM - PARIS SOUS LES BOMBES. I was there, and those who weren’t, well, too bad for them, when they weren't there, their mothers kept me company. Rap is anger, metal of all kinds, is just show, period and end. Tom Araya, if he meets Kool Shen on the street, he lowers his head and his damn Nazism, and goes fast, really fast, straight and firm... because Shen will beat him up, steal his wallet, write down the address, and within two hours he’ll have fucked his mother, sister, and cousin, and if she's not cobwebbed, even grandma should fear the worst.

And let them bomb Paris, they can level it to the ground, there might not be buildings left, but it remains true that they fucked your mother. Yes, yes... precisely yours. And I'll tell you more, even mine. Every mother is a country, but yours is more so. Huh huh huh... and now I'm happy, content, and carefree, just imagine when I'm nervous...

Luckily there's metal, which brings me back to benevolence by talking about wizards, witches, and other crap, otherwise, I'd be in jail by now. God bless Lee Dorrian, who may be a tough guy, but he leaves mothers where they are. NICK TA MERE, PARIS SOUS LES BOMBES, and I add a big&fato&loudfuckyouallporcaputtanayu-hùùùùùù. Ah, today I am happy, life is beautiful, FUCK. Yes, how the hell do I have to tell you, YOUR MOTHER, precisely YOURS.
How I like de-baser, ah, how I like it. What? 1800 characters? Eeehhh come on for once it's over, damn it...