Текст и перевод песни Chukky - Mi Herencia

Mi Herencia

No sé si puedo rapear esto, no creo, se me coge un nudo y.

Tiene setenta años, aunque no aparenta apenas cincuenta...
Me regaló ese don, tampoco aparento mis treinta,
Me tuvo tarde, pero fui buscao me dijo siempre:
"Papá quiso un varón y naciste tú, ¡mira que suerte!"

Me ha enseñao a mirar de frente,
A esquivar obstáculos, a salvar los embrollos, y a ser valiente.
Camina siempre sonriente y habla con tol mundo,
Me regaló su carisma y su don de gentes,

Me canta todas las mañanas,
Cuida a su marío, sus plantas y a mis hermanas,
Por la tarde ensaya con mi padre, mientras cocinaba
Es una señora de antes, ama de casa, jamás una esclava,

Perdió a su mami y aún conserva sus recetas,
Tiene un buen hombre que la cuida y la respeta,
Si tuve grescas siempre me calmó con besos,
"No eres malo nene, solo travieso, se te irá cuando crezcas"

Me regaló la armonía que hay en mi voz,
Su forma de entender la vida y explicarla,
Y hoy estoy aquí escribiendo esta canción
Que no quiero escribirtecuando ya no estés aquí para escucharla

Es la mejor herencia que puede existir,
Te doy las gracias madre por dejarla en mí,
No quiero bienes materiales
Porque todo lo que quiero está en mi sangre
Y eso sólo te lo debo a ti.
Es la mejor herencia que puede existir,
Te doy las gracias padre por dejarla en mí,
No quiero bienes materiales,
Porque todo lo que quiero está en mi sangre
Y eso sólo te lo debo a ti

Tiene setenta y cinco, y se levanta pronto de la cama,
La costumbre de currar to su vida a las seis de la mañana,
No baja al bar se queda en casa,
Jamás le gritó a mi madre y nunca le puso una mala cara,

Me ha enseñao a tener constancia,
Ensaya to los días de su vida desde su infancia,
Tiene alma de músico, y habla consigo mismo,
Me regalo el sentido del ritmo, le doy las gracias.

Es un hombre serio, criao en la postguerra,
De cuando se decía que los hombres no lloraban, sacaban sus garras,
No le he visto llorando nunca,
Sólo llora por las manos, tocando melodías tristes en su guitarra,

Vive en su mundo que se encuentra muy lejos de aquí.
Me regaló ese don para evadirme y escribir,
"Donde aprendiste ese lenguaje niño,
Será en la calle porque aquí en nuestra casa nunca se ha hablao así"

No cree en dios, porque muy joven le robó a sus padres,
Yo pienso igual si existe un dios debe ser miserable,
Prefiero hoy que a mañana cuando te escriba
No quiero esperar que ya no estés y que no lo escuches desde arriba.

Y bueno, poco más que añadir. eso. daros las gracias por.
Porque lo que yo tengo, no se paga con dinero, ¡qué coño!, ni con tol dinero del mundo se puede pagar esto. ¡os quiero!

My Inheritance

I don't know if I can rap this, I don't think so, it ties me up in knots.

She's seventy years old, although she looks nothing like she's fifty...
She gave me that gift, I don't look my thirties either,
She had me late, but she was looking for me, she always said:
"Daddy wanted a boy and you were born, how lucky!"

She has taught me to look ahead,
To avoid obstacles, to overcome hurdles, and to be brave.
She always walks around smiling and talks to everyone,
She gave me her charisma and her gift of people,

She sings to me every morning,
She looks after her husband, her plants and my sisters,
In the afternoon she rehearses with my father, while she was cooking
She is a lady of the old days, a homemaker, never a slave,

She lost her mommy and still keeps her recipes,
She has a good man who takes care of her and respects her,
If I had fights, she always calmed me down with kisses,
"You're not bad, honey, just naughty, it will go away when you grow up"

She gave me the harmony that is in my voice,
Her way of understanding life and explaining it,
And today I am here writing this song
Which I don't want to write when you are no longer here to hear it

It's the best legacy that could exist,
Thank you, mother, for leaving it in me,
I don't want material goods
Because everything I want is in my blood
And that I owe only to you.
It's the best legacy that could exist,
Thank you, father, for leaving it in me,
I don't want material goods,
Because everything I want is in my blood
And that I owe only to you

She's seventy-five, and she gets up early from bed,
The habit of working all her life at six in the morning,
She doesn't go down to the bar, she stays at home,
She never shouted at my mother and never gave her a bad look,

She has taught me to be consistent,
She has been rehearsing every day of her life since her childhood,
She has the soul of a musician, and she talks to herself,
She gave me the sense of rhythm, and I thank her.

She is a serious woman, brought up in the post-war years,
From when it was said that men did not cry, they showed their teeth,
I have never seen her cry,
She only cries for her hands, playing sad melodies on her guitar,

She lives in her own world, which is far away from here.
She gave me that gift to escape and write,
"Where did you learn that language, child,
It must be in the street because we never spoke like that in our house"

She doesn't believe in god, because he robbed her parents at a very young age,
I think the same way, if there is a god, he must be miserable,
I'd rather today than tomorrow when I write to you
I don't want to wait until you are no longer here and hear it from above.

Well, there's little more to say. that. thank you for.
Because what I have cannot be paid for with money, damn it! Nor with all the money in the world can this be paid for. I love you!