Silence because ... ah ... yeah ... ah ...
Silence because I'm recording, I don't care who of those guys is in my favor, fear when I'm accurate,
It's exhausting to be tamer and slave of the public, but I am unique in this work, the master.
Open your eyes and dream, everything goes very fast, It's beautiful and precise a smile;
in my mass the glass is raised, You will hear me singing drunk in your drunk ears.
I drank from the bottle of Cicero and Virgil, Today I am a poet with emotion at home;
I write in voluntary exile because there is always someone who calls me to do something in the neighborhood.
Azuara has time vacuum packed. Mobile disk? Own inspiration in the river?
Azuara has me as a kid, as a grandchild, and for the elderly, patience and respect.
Hey, you, love is in the air and I like the madness, we sample the vinyl and its scratching, I love this culture;
No fucking doubt that it's a mess, How many MCs out there are waiting for my failure?
With this pressure, each rhyme is a palace, I have to write slowly, I want to cause sensation;
I also want to inject illusion into the project and prove that the perfect sound is an anecdote
next to innate talent. I still compete; even more, I am the limit, I said to the mic:
«Bro, these hands that touch you will go later to my best fan's bread, so flow».
Tell me who replaces me, say in which seas you dive when I don't cry from the stereo;
I teach rhetoric in their forum and I ask for a platinum microphone to the best choir for my audience.
I bother with every word; They say: "You bother by everything, fuck, you bother by nothing". Okay.
There is no silence in a city and that is very hard, as hard as living with this fear of the future.
I'm going to spend my money on gifts, I want to give vacations to my ego and release the chaos;
I will not keep a penny for the cemetery, if the conscience asks for accounts, I have a parallel project.
It's a secret, but tonight (I don't know if I'm going to be discreet);
like if that girl starts dancing, the whole bar will end up dancing; my style is like that.
But I am shy and I have taken so many comments about me that I don't see anything clearly;
bring that drink here, whatever it is. I am a mister. Me a flirtatious? No, I'm drunk with Ron.
From the beginning and my best joys, when Aborto and Bufank accepted me as another homeboy,
united by alcohol with gas, the bass-side drums, grown up in the school of "you can't do it!"
From the Plaza del Rollo and all those good rappers that are still doing
of the city of the wind a crude reference. You know what I'm saying? Don't you? Well, come on.
Here it's frequent that the most normal guy of a bar is the best MC in his neighborhood, and who of the girls will notice it;
only a witch in a bubble will be able to risk; the greatest risk is not to risk.
I no longer write lyrics, I only think phrases that I never want to rhyme;
with the sweat of the athletes and based on hearing bases, I spill in this fucking verbal incontinence.
I like funk, reggae and jazz, but the only thing, the only thing they want is rap;
I make fun as Too $hort; in this course, I am the future, the precursor of the purest hedonism.
I have faith in phonetics, you listen to me and you feel me, I think we don't rotate in different orbits,
because the sources of love that I generated in the people are patent; my letters are enough bridges
to unite the ports, the coasts, the beaches; girl, take our music wherever you go.
I haven't always known what to do; I was mortally wounded, today my pain is a source of pleasure.
People young in spirit listen to me, I talk face to face, some absurd light blinded the youth;
those who don't aspire to anything or breathe afraid of being fired while they still can enjoy Zidane.
And the formula works, the TV illusions to us, coma, they drug the person;
then the hard part is to not go crazy, because there is no fashion to cure loneliness.
I write on this paper punching bag, I write what I feel and what I see too.
That I do not know how to criticize without insulting? As well. That I can make things change.
I just need to imagine to have, I have a chalet on the beach of Babia to keep;
It's not paradisiac, they call me Javat for something; I am the March guaje, you will hear me singing drunk in your drunk ears.
Late in the night I move looking for a lap; your lap, because I find your beauty infinite
multiplying the points from where to look at you and to where to you look at you, girl.
How lucky is the caryatid to hold my body, My body is the temple of the fragile.
If it's so easy to be a person, why do the debts pile on me because of "what is promised is debt"?
I'm going to play on the piano of your ribs without tickling you, my best piece.
Imaginary garden; there my fish breathes the pure air, barefoot on the fresh lawn of your slenderness.
Things are learned disorderly; the mind fears, the mind lies,
and we'll see what we do with the hostage dreams, I know you have them (come on), tell me you're coming (come on).
Where is my style? Where is my ruin? If I enter the area, I go even into the kitchen.
Idealist, but my clients are fine, and young people of all ages smoke my weed.
What I feel is not translatable, but my words manage to fertilize the sensitive ear;
It's the result, and someone tells me his life, that my song partially anesthetized his wound.
I don't know who I am and I don't pretend to know, NO KIND OF ORDER is my fifth alias,
fuck, I am the palm tree that is twisted but resists the hurricane since we wrote Un Gran Plan, what the fuck were you thinking?
Listen to me sitting with your eyes closed if your normal mood is tired, close to anger;
things will come as you never thought, now sleep and write on a paper what you have dreamed.
I usually speak little but when I speak, I talk too much and I'm wrong in fifty percent of my non-acts.
Many of my thoughts remain intact after the impacts ...
I don't want to suffer!
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