Paroles et traduction Liricistas - Paga Tus Pecados (Domingo)

Paga Tus Pecados (Domingo)

Liricistas en la casa 2010
Carlos vise en el beat desde el texas
Na ma.

Familia fatal, que es casi de fantasía
Que la chela va con fanta?, no, sin baso y bien fría
For live for real for love for my break
Mi grupo en acción y tu de que me contai
Que queri?, un berlin mira bajo los muros
Que usted tiene bling-bling, yo tengo estilo lo juro,
Ojos rojos como el piure, aveces mentiras tiré
Bienvenida a la locura, ahora que ya me cure
Marcas de tortura, en la cara son ojeras,
Escribo por nesecidad aunque aveses no quiera,
No puedo parar, vamos callendo socio
Liricistas en la casa represent hip hop explocion,
Egron es la poción pa' perder la noción
La billetera, el celular y la cabeza weon
En un rincón del salón, me flagelo con los flacos,
Oye flaca te estai perdiendo con ese tipo ase rato,
Y pa' que po', obvio, en la tierra mis pecados pago,
Cada sábado es un castigo, ya no se lo que hago
Solo dice "Go", sin pensar en consecuencias,
Al borde del abismo siempre ah sido la esencia,
Violentando mi cerebro, neurona, recuerdos corren,
Escribo con lápiz mina mis promesas pa' que se borren,
Que pasa reina, solamente recojo flores,
Las muelo, las echo en un papel, siente el olor
Pecador, en tus manos tienes lo malo,
Dolor, no lo hay, vienen, camina calmado
Claros que la inmortalidad, esta detrás del sol
Esperamos que se guarde para continuarlo
La fucking misión

La Misión liricistas en la casa
Wacho no, no, yo, yo
Chitopan, el dropen, el hapen armeflex
Sí, yo

Si yo vivo con resaca, mi aca, es el alcohol que me mata
Mi hígado trata de cambiar el agua,
Mi cama no me aguanta, tampoco me aguanto yo,
Vivo de noche y muero de día
Odiamos el sol, con este ron, inyectao' a la sangre,
Llega tarde, mi estomago arde, ruega por un trasplante
A que tanto darle, a esa botella que expande
Mi placer gigante, sé que no parece interesante,
Llevarte esta cantina, donde mi crew descansa,
Semanas enteras, no llegando nunca a casa,
Y el pecado, oye pescado, para vender la pesca,
Amo el caño, bajo la pluma nocturna fresca
Y así vamo', sin perdón y olvidando la culpa,
Puma, desquiciado, fuma el arte de pecar la pluma
Suma, las bestias y las dejan dando bote,
Alcohol, dros mil dos, me comprendes el mote,
Me comprendes el mote, liricistas in the pilning
Hey you, motherfuckers "madafaka" black ...
In the texas estudio, es liricistas mi wacho
Panchito start, yo, sueltela

Fumo hielito problema
Ou shitvamo' girando, al compas de humo respirando,
Contando huéas de la vida, mirando el paisaje de mi cuarto,
Una panoramica, loca reparto cuando la poca motivacion
Y una insolacion toma el mando,
Mi bando, bandido, doy mi sangre
Ni uno vendió, menos serio del ansunto entendió,
Otros se desesperan, por la paragua perra,
Que salvan con luca, con la abuela, afuera de la feria,
Y van por coca, prueba a esta fiera
Le comen la mente entera, y no comentan na'
Y toa' pesca, esto es a la ligera, pasa la tijera
Que no hay moledor, jugando con la leña,
A falta de encendedor
Oiga señor, no mire así, yo no me paso del reglón,
No existe dialogo, una mira dura
Y punto maricón, puño con puño, tu gritai yo grito
Papel de vuelo el pate y pasame ese grafito.

Pay For Your Sins (Sunday)

Lyricists in the House 2010
Carlos vise in the beat from the Texas
Na ma.

Fatal family, which is almost fantasy
That the chela goes with fanta?, no, without base and very cold
For live for real for love for my break
My group in action and you to tell me
What did I want?, a Berlin looks under the walls
That you've got bling-bling, I've got style I swear,
Eyes as red as the piure, sometimes I threw lies
Welcome to madness, now that I'm cured
Marks of torture, on the face are dark circles,
I write for the sake of necessity even if you don't want to,
I can't stop, let's keep quiet partner
Lyricists in the house represent hip hop explosion,
Egron is the potion to 'lose track of
The wallet, the cell phone and the weon...
In a corner of the living room, I flog myself with the skinny,
Hey skinny is losing you to that guy ase rato,
And for 'what po', obviously, on earth my sins I pay,
Every Saturday is a punishment, I don't know what I do anymore
Just say "Go", without thinking about consequences,
On the edge of the abyss has always been the essence,
Violating my brain, neuron, memories run,
I write with pencil mines my promises to be erased,
What's up queen, I'm just picking flowers,
I grind them, put them on a piece of paper, feel the smell
Sinner, in your hands you have the bad,
Pain, there is none, they come, walk calmly
Of course, immortality is behind the sun
We hope it will be saved to continue it
The fucking mission

The Mission lyricists in the house
Wacho no, no, I, I
Chitopan, the dropen, the hapen armeflex
Yes, I

If I live with a hangover, my aca, it's the alcohol that kills me
My liver is trying to change the water,
My bed can't take me, neither can I,
I live by night and I die by day
We hate the sun, with this rum, I inject' to the blood,
He's late, my stomach is burning, he's begging for a transplant
To give so much, to that bottle that expands
My giant pleasure, I know it doesn't seem interesting,
To take this canteen to you, where my crew rests,
Whole weeks, never coming home,
And sin, hey fish, to sell the catch,
I love the pipe, under the cool night feather
And so I go', without forgiveness and forgetting the guilt,
Cougar, deranged, smokes the art of sinning the pen
Add, the beasts and leave them giving pot,
Alcohol, two thousand and two, you understand my nickname,
You understand my nickname, lyricists in the pilning
Hey you, motherfuckers "madafaka" black...
In the texas studio, it's lyricists my wacho
Panchito start, yo, let her go

Smoking is a problem
Ou shitvamo' spinning, to the compass of smoke breathing,
Telling huéas of life, looking at the landscape of my room,
A panoramic, crazy cast when the little motivation
And a sunstroke takes over,
My side, bandit, I give my blood
Not one sold, the less serious of the ansunto understood,
Others are desperate, for the umbrella bitch,
That they save with luca, with grandma, outside the fair,
And they're going for coke, try this beast
They eat his whole mind, and they don't comment na'
And toa' fishing, this is lightly, pass the scissors
That there is no grinder, playing with the wood,
In the absence of a lighter
Hey, sir, don't look like that, I'm not going over the edge,
There is no dialogue, a hard look
And point faggot, fist to fist, you scream I scream
Flight paper the pate and pass me that graphite.