Paroles et traduction Salvaje Decibel feat. Inkognito - Flor (feat. Inkognito)

Flor (feat. Inkognito)

Ella tiene dieciseis
Cambio muñecas por alcohol
Dejo a su amiga de infancia
Vagancia era su condicion.
Usa mini, ja!
Sueña con tetas con silicona
La sifilis ronda su zona
Saca sus ropas por dolar
Por besos pipazos, por saqe de naco
La llaga de su brazo
Muestra que en su vida hay mas golpes que abrazos.
Varios intentos de suicidio
Pero por algo no sucedio
Tal vez uno de los santos de su pulsera a la muerte convencio
De que no se la llevara
Qe los designios del santisimo mismo
Para ella algo preparaba.
De vez en cuando vuelve a casa
Padre cesante hermano lanza
Y su madre depresiva evade lo que pasa.
Las hadas madrina por estos laos demuestran que no existen
Y los finales felices mataban toas las perdices
El sitio del asesinato
La inocencia es una esquina
La escena del crimen un auto
En el cual entrega su cuerpo por quina
Se baja y desconsolada llora
Mira la hora
La noche es larga y embarga
Los letargos de un sabor amargo
Que se enrolla como una larva
Y larga un vomito sobre un auto
Le dice al cliente ¡largo!
Y cae sobre el frio asfalto
Incognito
Ella tiene dieciseis
De octavo basico
Sentia el placer cada vez
Cada vez que por el tacto un pacto
Por el sexo cambiaba su palpito
Ya no amaba solo cobraba
Tendencia de cama saturaban
El olor de quinceañera
Que tras un cigarro ocultaba
No habia pausa
Solo intoxicacion corporales explotacion
Habia reaccion si su mayor intermediario
Con su interior era un condon
Y asi queda
En su marquesa huella de un cuerpo
Qe en un colchon fomenta la pasion
Y el asco en una sola faena
Camina mirando al cielo
Con un escote coqueto pensando
Con que pretexto ocultara el moreton del ojo izquierdo
Mil hechos suicidas traidas por la nicotina
Su postura ante la vida
Era cacha por quina
Lo haria sin importar que el sida
Tomara su cuerpo atractivo
Frente al destino le dijo no eres tu
Y ella aprendio contabilidad
A golpes en un colectivo
Asi mismo tareas sin sueldo se muestra
Domicilio en venta destino Inglaterra
Prostibulo en la bohemia claro
Ya no tenia remedio
Falta de abrigo abrigan sueños con morfina
Gatillan lo sexual como vinculo deseo objeto
Hechos sin nada conmovedores
Preambulo en el velador
Un moreton de firma marchita la flor
Portavoz
Ella tiene dieciseis
Y grita may-day boy
Paso del game-boy
No se compara con play boy (naa)
Pues su profesion nacio en un tragico contexto
Trafico critico panorama drama por supuesto
Imagina su vagina de niña
Por quina en la esquina
La maquina asesina paginas de su vida
Su trabajo trajo mas tajos que fajo y relajo
No hay atajo en un barrio bajo cabizbajo
Que necesidad, es costumbre
Su virginidad se fue con hombres de los qe no sabe nombres
No te asombres que la prostitucion infantil
Situaciones por mil son pa las poblacion un misil vil!
En la pobreza nacio el contexto
Su inocencia perdio
Y el sexo comercio
Puta!, mas puta es tu bruta logica
Debuta la rap pa sonar en una disco grafica
Funky flu
Por las noches salen flores
Por montones calles trampas ampones
Condones amores y desamores
Son niñas mujeres son nenas y sueños que duelen
Mira a santiago no duerme ¡Respira!

Flower (feat. Inkognito)

She's only sixteen
Trading dolls for alcohol's sting
Left her childhood friend behind
Vagrancy was her state of mind.
Wears a mini, ha!
Dreams of silicone-filled bras
Syphilis lurks in her domain
Sells her clothes for a dollar's gain
For kisses, hits, for a junkie's fix
The sore on her arm speaks
Of a life with more blows than warm embrace.
Several suicide attempts made
But for some reason, fate stayed
Perhaps a saint on her bracelet convinced death to evade
To not take her away
That the Almighty's plan divine
Had something else in store for her life.
From time to time, she returns home
Father unemployed, brother a known
And her depressed mother evades what's shown.
Fairy godmothers in these parts prove they don't exist
And happy endings killed all the partridges' bliss
The scene of the murder
Innocence is a corner's lure
The crime scene a car's interior
Where she gives her body for a meager score
She gets out and cries, inconsolable
Looks at the time, it's unbearable
The night is long and weighs down
The lethargy of a bitter taste, profound
That curls up like a larva's form
And throws up vomit on a car's warm
She tells the client "Get lost!"
And falls upon the cold asphalt's frost
Incognito
She's only sixteen
Eighth grade's scene
Felt the pleasure keen
Every time through touch a pact obscene
Through sex, her heartbeat did transform
She no longer loved, only took the norm
Tendency of bed saturated, torn
The scent of a quinceañera, forlorn
That hid behind a cigarette's haze
There was no pause, no daze
Only bodily intoxication, exploitation's maze
There was a reaction if her main intermediary
With her insides was a condom, contrary
And so it remains
On her mattress, the imprint of a body's strains
That on a mattress fosters passion's flames
And disgust in a single act, it claims
She walks looking at the sky above
With a flirty neckline, thinking of
What excuse to hide the bruise on her left eye, a dove
A thousand suicidal thoughts brought by nicotine's hold
Her stance on life, so bold
Was to get cash, stories told
She'd do it regardless of AIDS' cold
Taking over her attractive frame
Facing destiny, she said, "You're not the same"
And she learned accounting's art
Through blows on a bus, a broken heart
Likewise, tasks without pay are displayed
Domicile for sale, destiny England-swayed
Brothel in Bohemia, it's clear
She had no remedy, no cheer
Lack of shelter, dreams with morphine they adhere
Trigger the sexual as a link, desire, object's leer
Events without anything moving, sincere
Preamble on the nightstand near
A bruise of a signature withers the flower, my dear
Spokesperson
She's only sixteen
And screams "Mayday boy"
Gone from Gameboy's employ
Doesn't compare to Playboy (nah, not a toy)
For her profession was born in a tragic context's fold
Critical traffic, panoramic drama, a story told
Imagine her vagina, a child's despair
For a few bucks on the corner, a snare
The killing machine, pages of her life laid bare
Her work brought more cuts than stacks and leisure's flair
There's no shortcut in a low neighborhood, head hung low with care
What a need, it's a custom, a flow
Her virginity went with men whose names she doesn't know
Don't be surprised that child prostitution's plight
Situations by the thousand are a vile missile's flight!
In poverty, the context was born
Her innocence lost, forlorn
And sex became commerce, torn
Whore! Your brute logic is more of a whore
Debut the rap to sound in a record label's core
Funky flu
At night, flowers bloom, it's true
By the masses, streets, traps, and thugs accrue
Condoms, loves, and heartbreaks ensue
They are girls, women, babes, and dreams that accrue
Look at Santiago, it doesn't sleep, it breathes! It's true!