Paroles et traduction Crew Cuervos - Peter Pan No Tiene un Arma

Peter Pan No Tiene un Arma

Peter Pan no tiene un arma pero tiene huevos,
Son como senos gordos sordo va y sin frenos,
Conoce este terreno el polígono es suyo,
Algún capullo con novia un tirón de bolso y a lo tuyo eh.
No mires a Meter le das lo que pide,
Mide el perfil del vil con él y coincide,
Le gusta el crimen, reincide,
Pasando perico apoyado en su esquina como un gallo que se exhibe.
Así vive, esa nieve del finde persigue
Y su cara escribe drama como un guión de cine,
Comiendo techo en la cama el pecho le oprime
Y busca el calibre flama que a él le define
Como a ese marine, en la tierra de Nunca Jamás,
Buscando su sombra en la sombra deshonra es lo que va a encontrar.
Aun es pequeño el tiburón que contiene este mar de asfalto,
Pero come y crece dispuesto a matar

Peter Pan no tiene un arma tiene fe y cara de tonto
Le quieren robar por eso aprendió pronto
Paso del trompo a un futbol frio y agresivo
Paso del montón por eso anda metió en mil líos

Es un crio con rabia, entre primos y tíos con labia
Que entre el frio y el gentío se agravia
Su mariposa es, su juguete un polígono sin calma
Su nunca jamás Peter Pan no habla a no ser que peque

Allí le pinchan el culo con su machete,
Si quieres pelea los puños son suficientes,
Pero es la ley del más fuerte y quien porte un nueve es el jefe
Puedes sentir lo hostil de ese ambiente

En un parque con bocetos, el rojo o el azul,
Los bloques grises o amarillos todo sea por verde en los bolsillos
Peter Pan ya no tiene a Campanilla
Porque la cambio por 3 kilos en base de heroína

Hay una pistola en cada sien y un filo blanco por estómagos
Magos del quirófano te esperan en cajeros
Huelen el acero blanco corre van al tuétano
Peter Pan no tiene un arma ni tampoco freno

Peter Pan no tiene un arma pero tiene polvos mágicos,
Que hacen volar a la peña si el cobra en metálico.
El papi de las comebolsas en cualquier garito,
él siempre es el prota en los relatos de delitos,
Dirás uuf, cuando pase al lado tuya y no te mire,
Veras luz, al final del túnel o donde te envíe.
Tiene una postal de su padre desde la cárcel,
Dice: "¿por qué no vienes a verme pá que te abrace?"
Sin esperanza siempre en la calle posturas,
El tiempo avanza en todas las calles sus postulas,
Ponte donde quieras raper sabe dónde estás,
Va a quitarle el cordón de oro a tu novia el no mira a atrás.
Se aburre dando vueltas por qué ese es su curre,
Se escurre de la poli cuando algo malo ocurre.
Apaga el móvil tío si no quieres que te encuentre.
Peter Pan no tiene un arma pero que mate es frecuente.

Peter Pan no tiene un arma de fuego
En su abrigo esconde un punzón
Menudo cabrón, le sobran huevos,
Para él es solo un juego,
Si se cruza contigo y te mira el piensa:
"Su dinero es lo que quiero"
Y te deja temblando en el suelo
Con dos costillas rotas
Hay sangre en sus botas tus ojos reflejan el miedo
Sabe que no va a ir al cielo,
Va por el polígono buscando gallitos para batirse en duelo
Es su life drama, papa pegando a mama
La hermana sigue vendiendo su cuerpo en la cama,
Amigos de verdad son cristal los tripis y escama,
Si llaman el va y la noche y el día se empalman,
Es su carnaza de fin de semana te da a probar su mana
Y si te quiere robar le vale con partirte la cara, es una leyenda
El rey de la sabana es Peter Pan y tu para el un mierda.

Hay una pistola en cada sien y un filo blanco por estómagos
Magos del quirófano te esperan en cajeros
Huelen el acero blanco corre van al tuétano
Peter Pan no tiene un arma ni tampoco freno

Peter Pan Doesn't Have a Gun

Peter Pan doesn't have a gun, but he has guts,
Like fat breasts, deaf he goes and without brakes,
He knows this terrain, the polygon is his,
Some jerk with a girlfriend, a purse snatch, and off to his own thing, eh.
Don't look at Peter, give him what he asks for,
He measures the profile of the vile with him and it coincides,
He likes crime, he reoffends,
Passing coke, leaning on his corner like a rooster showing off.
That's how he lives, that weekend snow he chases,
And his face writes drama like a movie script,
Eating ceiling in bed, his chest oppresses him,
And he looks for the caliber flame that defines him
Like that marine, in Neverland,
Searching for his shadow in the shadow, dishonor is what he will find.
The shark that this asphalt sea contains is still small,
But it eats and grows ready to kill.

Peter Pan doesn't have a weapon, he has faith and a fool's face,
They want to rob him, that's why he learned quickly,
He went from spinning top to cold and aggressive football,
He went from the bunch, that's why he's gotten into a thousand troubles.

He's a kid with rage, among cousins and uncles with smooth talk,
Who, between the cold and the crowd, feels wronged,
His butterfly is his toy, a restless polygon,
His Neverland, Peter Pan doesn't speak unless he sins.

There they prick his ass with their machete,
If you want a fight, fists are enough,
But it's the law of the strongest and whoever carries a nine is the boss,
You can feel the hostility of that environment.

In a park with sketches, red or blue,
The gray or yellow blocks, anything for green in the pockets,
Peter Pan no longer has Tinkerbell,
Because he traded her for 3 kilos of heroin base.

There's a gun to every temple and a white blade through stomachs,
Operating room magicians await you at ATMs,
They smell white steel, run, they go for the marrow,
Peter Pan doesn't have a gun, nor does he have brakes.

Peter Pan doesn't have a weapon, but he has magic powders,
That make people fly if he charges in cash.
The daddy of the cokeheads in any joint,
He's always the protagonist in crime stories,
You'll say "ooh" when he walks by and doesn't look at you,
You'll see light at the end of the tunnel or wherever he sends you.
He has a postcard from his father from prison,
It says: "Why don't you come see me so I can hug you?"
Hopeless, always on the street hustling,
Time moves on, in all the streets his postulates,
Stand wherever you want, rapper knows where you are,
He's going to take your girlfriend's gold chain, he doesn't look back.
He gets bored going around because that's his job,
He slips away from the police when something bad happens.
Turn off your phone, dude, if you don't want him to find you.
Peter Pan doesn't have a weapon, but him killing is frequent.

Peter Pan doesn't have a firearm,
He hides an awl in his coat,
What a bastard, he's got balls to spare,
For him it's just a game,
If he crosses paths with you and looks at you, he thinks:
"Your money is what I want,"
And he leaves you trembling on the ground,
With two broken ribs,
There's blood on his boots, your eyes reflect fear,
He knows he's not going to heaven,
He goes through the polygon looking for roosters to duel with,
It's his life drama, dad hitting mom,
Sister keeps selling her body in bed,
True friends are crystal, trippy and flake,
If they call, he goes and night and day merge,
It's his weekend meat, he gives you a taste of his manna,
And if he wants to rob you, he'll just break your face, he's a legend,
The king of the savannah is Peter Pan and you're a piece of shit to him.

There's a gun to every temple and a white blade through stomachs,
Operating room magicians await you at ATMs,
They smell white steel, run, they go for the marrow,
Peter Pan doesn't have a gun, nor does he have brakes.