Текст и перевод песни Canserbero - Enfermo (En Vivo)

Enfermo (En Vivo)

Caucásico, baja estatura, veintitantos años, sus huellas digitales no parecen, es extraño
El pordiosero que lo trajo, dijo al enfermero "que lo único que sabe es que se llama Canserbero"
Pupilas dilatadas, por la nariz sangraba, solo balbuceaba y curiosamente todo rimaba
Pero lo que en realidad hizo llamar la atención; la radiografía indicaba una piedra en el corazón.
Y los vecinos dicen que muy pocas veces dormía, leía, rapíaba, escribía to el día.
Debió a ver colapsado, este mal alimentado, puede estar obsesionado con rimar el desgraciado
Familiares no tiene, amigos quizás no tiene, Hip Hop Real indica en el examen de ADN.
Sus ojos están rojos, inyecte morfina, porque a veces dice que va romper una tal tarima.
Y que la policía halló en su casa guardado, millones de cuadernos con letras que no ha grabado.
Con un radio desgastado con un casete colocado repleto de Hip Hop de los 90 por los 2 lados.
Algo está mal con él su presencia me hace temblar ni hablar de la enfermera que lo ayudaba a orinar.
Ya no recuerda nada, luego no paraba de llorar, cuando llegamos y lo vimos haciéndole un oral.
El solo logra orinar sobre un cd comercial, sobre biblia o sobre el discurso presidencial
Hoy lo tienen que operar, su cerebro ya no aguanta tiene adelanto mental
Y lo demuestra cuando canta. Su sangre es muy fría.
Busque en el libro de psicología y su obsesión se llama liricalogía.
Complicada condición que se creía que ya no existía en los raperos hoy en día
Pero este caso es el más grave, casi todo sabe, cordina palabras perfectas que busca con clave
Su grave voz eriza pieles produce fieles en ideas en las que a cambiar el mundo se refieren
Los hematomas de sus puños me sugieren que lucha por lo que quiere
No envidia lo que otro tiene nene, En forma de micrófono tiene los genes
Testigos aseguran vieron heaters en su pene
El está enfermo de Hip Hop, Au
El está desahuciado, por todo lo que ha escrito el desgraciado
Pero no está satisfecho el muy descarado Mirada fija y su mano temblaba, mirada fija y su mano temblaba
Hasta que de la nada dijo cállense, búscame papel y lápiz rápido y lárguense.
Comencé a pensar que de algo superior sufría, que lo hacía lucir superior en filosofía
Cuando me acerque y oía la lírica que escribía la cual parecía escrita por un mesías,
Decía algo de Latinoamérica, lírica, música, perfecta, única e inédita,
Música pa maniáticos a mi manera de pensar empiezo a pensar que tal si también enloqueciera
Porque me pareciera que quiero subir la mano es anti ético viniendo de un doctor graduado
En la mejor universidad que tenemos que por cierto dieron el descaro con que la han robado,
Volviendo al tema llamen a la enfermera el paciente comenzó a improvisar realidades muy severas
Traigan la camisa de fuerza y en eso de matar Mc's basuras no dejen que los convenza
El piensa antes de que pensemos, Quizás debemos odiarlo, amarlo ya que no lo comprendemos
Igual sabemos que le queda poco tiempo y al irse lo olvidaran como a todos los que ha muerto
El está enfermo de Hip Hop, Au
El está desahuciado, por todo lo que ha escrito el desgraciado
Pero no está satisfecho el muy descarado

Sick (Live)

Caucasian, short stature, in his twenties, his fingerprints are missing, it's strange
The beggar who brought him, told the nurse "all he knows is that his name is Canserbero"
Dilated pupils, bleeding from his nose, he only babbled and curiously everything rhymed
But what really caught their attention; the X-ray indicated a stone in his heart.
And the neighbors say he rarely slept, he read, rapped, and wrote all day long.
He must have collapsed, this malnourished man, the wretch may be obsessed with rhyming
He has no family, perhaps no friends, Real Hip Hop is indicated in the DNA test.
His eyes are red, inject morphine, because sometimes he says he's going to break a stage.
And that the police found millions of notebooks with lyrics he hasn't recorded, stored in his house.
With a worn-out radio and a cassette tape full of 90s Hip Hop on both sides.
Something is wrong with him, his presence makes me tremble, not to mention the nurse who helped him urinate.
He doesn't remember anything anymore, then he wouldn't stop crying, when we arrived and saw her giving him oral sex.
He can only urinate on a commercial CD, on a bible or on the presidential speech
Today he has to be operated on, his brain can't take it anymore, he has mental advancement
And he shows it when he sings. His blood is very cold.
I looked in the psychology book and his obsession is called lyricalogy.
A complicated condition that was thought to no longer exist in rappers today
But this case is the most serious, he knows almost everything, he coordinates perfect words that he searches with a key
His deep voice makes skin crawl, it produces faithful followers of ideas that refer to changing the world
The bruises on his fists suggest to me that he fights for what he wants
He doesn't envy what others have, kid, He has the genes in the form of a microphone
Witnesses claim they saw haters on his penis
He is sick with Hip Hop, Ow
He is terminally ill, for all that he has written, the wretch
But he is not satisfied, the shameless one Fixed gaze and his hand trembling, fixed gaze and his hand trembling
Until out of nowhere he said shut up, get me paper and pencil quick and get out.
I began to think that he suffered from something superior, that made him look superior in philosophy
When I approached and heard the lyrics he was writing, which seemed to be written by a messiah,
He was saying something about Latin America, lyrics, music, perfect, unique and unprecedented,
Music for maniacs in my way of thinking I start to think what if I went crazy too
Because it seems to me that I want to raise my hand, it's unethical coming from a graduate doctor
In the best university we have, which by the way, they had the nerve to rob it,
Going back to the subject, call the nurse, the patient started improvising very harsh realities
Bring the straitjacket and don't let him convince you about killing trash MCs
He thinks before we think, Maybe we should hate him, love him since we don't understand him
We know he doesn't have much time left and when he leaves they will forget him like all those who have died
He is sick with Hip Hop, Ow
He is terminally ill, for all that he has written, the wretch
But he is not satisfied, the shameless one