Mice bit my mattresses
I heard it while I was asleep but in days of reflections it seems comical
but the fact that he did not wake up
it means that in the neighborhoods poverty gives the face
that are so many memories, that I do not rhyme them because I feel
that would be unjust for those who live in real suffering
I mean extreme poverty of course
some severe disease of those that control in your body
How fast time goes by, I feel like I started writing
When I raised my face I did not recognize myself
so many faces, so many choirs, so many trips I lived
so many nights when alone and without food I slept
nobody knew because nobody asked
like the story of the old man who lived there
where the snow falls as of hell a punishment
and the old man in winter was dressed without a coat
they all said that strong is not cold
They looked at him, they applauded they did not know what I'm telling them now
the old man of course was cold
what I did not have was shelter.
I keep doing the same kind of rap
in the same type of study, since you did not even know hip hop
locked in my ranch, doing real rap
in a room where there is no room for a double bed
They do not know me, just because they greet me at the kiosk
nobody knows me then nor do I know myself
I live in a filthy world full of envious
where by my excess of honesty they see me as if I'm crazy
they criticize me for whatever
, although in the end they know that I have more letters than the book of the odyssey
I do not even want someone to believe me
I just rape and who does not like it so do not see me
the world of rap is hostile and it sounds like chimera unite
it is therefore that they only want to emerge
almost nobody knows the same nobody, the immaturity by the air
and in turn the cuts went by the guaire
even knowing that life is one
I decided to pass mine between drums boxes and consoles
rapping, improvising in Barcelona
because I do not remember how this fucking song ends,
but what does it matter anyway? I'm not going to put the cut,
I am the one who simply exhorts you,
invites you, from the district of the pica,
The rapper, who does not mortify himself, will tire
makes them hesitate, and that the *** is stacked,
that you annihilate them, you want style or style,
as you want it in all languages,
in my country they would say this man rapping is a pigeon,
but take, it's like waking up from a coma,
I am the one who simply with the beat of the rhymes looms
and he says oh, this person floats and from three he scores it,
and whips them with the whip, I can sing faster, slower, slower, soft more violent, more reality or more story, the fact is that they are careful not to lie to them.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)