Paroles et traduction Bardero$ feat. Homer El Mero Mero - Desastres (Un Tiro)

Desastres (Un Tiro)

Esto no es música es droga.

Tiros en la puerta de adelante, entra la policía
Buscando armas, dinero y mercadería
Allanamientos por el barrio es cosa de todos los días
Aunque la torta gigante esta demasiado escondida
Ya no se confían, siempre cuidan la comida
De wacho salen a robar pa' ganarse la vida
La misma calle les derrama sal en cada herida
Tratan de ganar la feria, la miseria no la olvidan
Demasiados rial, siguen su propio sistema
Con un robo a la mañana y otro antes de la cena
Siempre a cara descubierta, visten como gente buena
Hacen que ser bandolero al menos valga la pena
Y vale la pena, ojos rojos y panza llena
Todo el día maquineando porque para esto se entrena
Lo de ser un delincuente negro se lleva en las venas
Cumplir siempre las promesas pero nunca las condenas
Vivir siempre afuera, vida free con los colegas
Haciendo desastres solo pa' mostrar como se juega
Ni con zona liberada, ni pagando alguna entrega
Ellos arman la jugada y se mueven como estrategas
Y vuelven a la pega, ya se les hizo costumbre
Pleno enero y están gastando las que hicieron en octubre
Tienen claro el panorama pocas veces se confunden
Ya compraron varios botes por si el barco se les hunde
No están de paso, siguen en carrera
Van a terminar triunfando de alguna manera
Subiendo sin parar y sin usar las escaleras
Sobreviviendo por el poder de su billetera
Checkealo fella, ¿te cuento qué pasa en el rioba?
Que ahí afuera se le roba y se lo mata si se retoba
Porque la lleca no es joda y ser pobre les incomoda
Sienten hambre a toda hora y ganas de tomar mas droga...
Puta, pero en el fondo son todas buenas personas...
Te lo juro

Disasters (A Shot)

This is not music, it's drugs.

Shots at the front door, police enter
Searching for weapons, money and merchandise
Raids in the neighborhood are a daily occurrence
Though the giant cake is too well hidden
They don't trust anyone anymore, they always guard the food
As kids they go out to steal to make a living
The same street pours salt on every wound
They try to win the game, they don't forget the misery
Too much rial, they follow their own system
With a robbery in the morning and another before dinner
Always with faces uncovered, they dress like good people
They make being a bandit worthwhile at least
And it's worth it, red eyes and a full belly
Machinating all day long because that's what they train for
Being a black delinquent runs in their veins
Always keeping promises but never serving sentences
Always living outside, free life with colleagues
Making disasters just to show how it's played
Not even with a free zone, or by paying some delivery
They set up the game and move like strategists
And they get back to work, it's become a habit
Mid-January and they're spending what they made in October
They have a clear view of the situation, they rarely get confused
They've already bought several boats in case their ship sinks
They're not passing through, they're still in the race
They're going to end up triumphing somehow
Climbing up without stopping and without using the stairs
Surviving by the power of their wallet
Check it out fella, should I tell you what's happening in the rioba?
That out there they steal and kill if you fight back
Because poverty is no joke and being poor makes them uncomfortable
They're hungry all the time and want to do more drugs...
Damn, but deep down they're all good people...
I swear