Paroles et traduction Homer el Mero Mero - Desastres

Desastres

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

This is not music, it's drugs.

Shots at the front door, the police come in
Looking for guns, money and merchandise
Raids in the neighborhood are an everyday thing
Although the giant cake is too well hidden
They don't trust each other anymore, they always watch over the food
They go out as kids to steal to earn their living
The same street pours salt in every wound
They try to win the fair, they don't forget the misery
Too much money, they follow their own system
With a robbery in the morning and another before dinner
Always with their faces uncovered, dressed like good people
They make being a black bandit at least worthwhile
And it's worth it, red eyes and a full belly
Scheming all day long because that's what they're trained for
Being a black criminal is something you carry in your veins
Always keeping promises but never sentences
Always living outside, free life with colleagues
Causing disasters just to show how it's played
Not even with a free zone, or paying for some delivery
They set the game up and move like strategists
And they go back to work, it's become their habit
Mid-January and they're spending what they made in October
They're clear on the scene, they rarely get confused
They've already bought several boats in case their ship sinks
They're not just passing through, they're still in the race
They're going to end up triumphing somehow
Going up without stopping and without using the stairs
Surviving by the power of their wallet
Check it out, fellas, should I tell you what's going on in the rioba?
That they steal out there and they kill you if you fight back
Because the lleca 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.