Текст и перевод песни Dj Impereal feat. Mc Flako - Tercera Persona

Tercera Persona

A punta de golpes y truenos, la vida lo enseño a ser bueno
Para más que en el pensar más en el bienestar ajeno
Sabe que debe amar al prójimo y siempre serle sincero
Pero le suena un poco ilógico sin amarse primero
Aun no entiende cómo es que se venden lujos espirituales
Animales superficiales, guiados por bienes materiales
Es hombre humilde por lo cual escarba entre los escombros
Para así ver que a nadie está mirando por encima del hombro
Le es más fiel a un papel, que a la miel de una piel
Y nunca habla de su rap, ya que su rap habla por el
Le otorga su vida a sus rimas sobre una tarima
Para sentirse en el cielo cuando observa una mano arriba
Al caído no caerle, al caído darle la mano
Y por pensar hacer el bien le han caído varios farsantes
Hasta la fecha colecciona como diez y ocho veranos
Que se le han vuelto en diez y ocho inviernos constantes
Conoce la importancia que posee cada sueño
Que la disposición de sus dueños es crucial para observarlos
Sabe que la noche se hace larga para los soñadores
Y que por pequeños que sean hay que luchar para lograrlos
Tiene claro que el tiempo, modifica sus pensamientos
Y en vez de gritar mejor mejora su argumento
Toda su vida fue una mentira, y quiso ser sincero
Razón principal por la cual se volvió rapero
Muchos conocen a Mc Flako, pero pocos a Andrés
Y que aunque el rap nació allá no le gusta el rap en ingles
No traduce temas de idiomas diferentes que se le cruzan
Prefiere hacer sus temas y que los traduzcan en la USA
Hace rap para el que entiende que rapero es el que lo siente
No es cantante, solo en letras describe lo más constante
Y que la gente entienda que rapero no es delincuente
Pero no colaboran muchos con delirios de maleantes
Sus temas no poseen coros, ni producciones caras
Es decir que le meten cora pa' dejarte las cuentas claras
Y aunque le sugieren coros para que sea más pegajoso
No hay nada más pegajoso que decir las cosas con ganas
Se aferra a sus raíces, sus andamios y sus bases
No le importa que lo comercial pegue más que lo que él hace
Aunque muchos individuos le den errados consejos
Está consciente de que con conciencia, también se llega lejos
No se crece entre los suyos por una buena canción
Ni le hace falta una foto en el estudio de grabación
Llámale como lo llames, para el eso es presunción
Se redime, y revive con los versos con los que exhibe
Escribe de lo que vive, pero no vive de lo que escribe
Puede rapear sin parar desde hoy hasta el siguiente octubre
Sin estar mal acostumbrado a rapear por costumbre
Para él no está mal ser discreto en momentos varios
Ya que te distingue como ser oportuno y necesario
Piensa que es pertinente mencionar varios comentarios
Y más aún cuando se trata de tu estancia en un escenario
No le hables como Mc, háblale como un hermano
Porque antes de ser rapero él ya era un ser humano
No le hables como ese hombre que solo hace rap consciente
Porque antes de ser rapero él ya era un ser viviente
Soy real, vaya frase tan superficial
Y cree que en los supuestos reales radica el problema
El hecho de haber nacido en una familia disfuncional
Es más real que estar gritando soy real en todos tus temas
Soy real, vaya frase sin claridad
Ya que es real aquel, ser tangible que vive de realidades
Y aunque él nunca ha vivido en la necesidad
Sabe lo que es estar mal y no poseer oportunidades
Improvisando no se le hace visible ningún percance
Corta tu avance y responde a cada rima que le lances
Con tema o sin tema impuesto a puesto lo mejor de el
En rimas y versos con calma desgasta su alma y su piel
Le es fiel a la competición sana, sin egocentrismo
Solo compite para demostrar que hay raperos inteligentes
Solo compite para demostrarse a sí mismo
Y cumplir metas que Mc Flako se ha trazado anteriormente
Se le hace obvio que sus enemigos le aman con odio
Ya que nunca ha rapeado ni por medallas ni por podios
No le haya relevancia a un papel válido por diploma
Si al fin y al cabo tú en tu vida no aprendiste a ser persona
Rapea simplemente, para llenarse espiritualmente
Ya que su espíritu refleja la experiencia de sus años
Rapeando ha comprendido a saber amar con la mente
Y que consejos y regaños sirven a escalar peldaños
El rap es arte pero el arte no es rap por definición
Con trazos delicados y otros fuertes el pinta rimas finas
Desde el grito de Van Gogh hasta Miguel y su creación
Terminará dando de su arte en la capilla sixtina
No pinta obras maestras, con su vocablo da pasos
Dando muestras que es artista y mejor que Pablo Picazo
Suelta comentarios módicos, crónicos, lógicos
No es Da Vinci pero posee sus propios códigos
Sus rimas, son por él, catalogadas como fuente de vida
Y es un as bajo la manga para combatir la rutina
Además por muchos santos están cubiertos sus días
Ya que trasborda en San Antonio, y su salida en Santa Lucía
Antes de soñar lo piensa, y después de soñar reacciona
Ya que una persona sin sueños, es simplemente una persona
El pasado es como el tiempo, que te afana lentamente
Te incita a cumplir tus sueños futuros en el presente
En su caminar en el rap ha callado bocas de idiotas
Que creen ser Mc's, por llevar una grande ropa
El ser Mc va más en el canto no tanto en la vestimenta
Ya que nunca he visto rapeando una camiseta del dos ochenta
El ser Mc va más en lo que piensas con tus sentimientos
Necesitas solo una mente hambrienta, de conocimientos
Una libreta, un lapicero, una esencia despejada
Para que puedas pensarlo todo sin necesidad de decir nada
Sabe que es cierto que asiste a muchos conciertos y eventos
Pero a diferencia de otros no va para que le reconozcan
Solo va pasar pasar al rato al lado de 4 elementos
Y no para conocer a gente y luego terminar en la rosca
Nunca ha rapeado, buscando complacer a los demás
Ya que su objetivo primordial ha sido tener calma y paz
Recuerda esto, aunque olvides todo lo demás
Un poeta solo es un músico que nunca aprendió a cantar
Es criticado habitualmente por ser tan individual
Sin especificar, lo es desde un punto más general
Desde el pensamiento, música, fútbol, y lo racional
Hasta su atracción carnal, y su inactiva vida sexual
En 18 años transcurridos y muy bien vividos
Ha comprendido que no eres lo que has leído
Y el número de temas que ha escrito sin moción alguna
Es igual al número de vaginas que ha conocido (NINGUNA)
Es el hombre de la casa y solo vive con tres damas
Y esto lo ha llevado a entender que no son sinónimo de cama
Que tiene claro que aquella mujer, que viste con escotes
Su objetivo primario es que sus enormes tetas notes
Mientras bailas en barrio Colombia en la noche de un viernes
El flaco no se adormece, por estar en sus cuadernos
Mientras terminas la fiesta llegas a tu casa y duermes
Sigue despierto recitándole versos a sus infiernos
Tanto socio que hace rap por ocio sin ser sincero
Buscando negocio en una cultura que ni siquiera ama
No quieren ser distinguidos solo obtener dinero
Ahí radica la diferencia entre el respeto y la fama
Las mentes grandes siempre hablan de ideas con peso
Las mentes medianas hablan de hechos sobre su faz
Las mentes pequeñas, hablan siempre de simples sucesos
Y las mentes pobres, se conforman con hablar de los demás
Y si hablo en tercera persona durante todo el tema
Es para que entiendas que no solo yo hago parte del problema
Ya que muchas veces trato de hallarle la solución
A tanto raper tonto que en su canto no plasman su corazón
Razón de ser, inspiración para hacer crecer a peones
En el vaivén del mal donde el bien también toma decisiones
Soy mc flako, e intento llenarme con canciones
Y llenarte en parte con arte trabajado con mis cojones

Sobre el beat está Favela, que enseña más que una escuela
Y te deja secuelas, ya que le agrega ritmo a un arrítmico con su a capela (vuela, vuela)
Sobre las rimas y las frases, que fueron sacadas de un saco
Hay una vida, con falta de clase, llamado Mc Flako

Third Person

Through blows and thunder, life taught him to be good
To think more about the well-being of others
He knows he must love his neighbor and always be sincere
But it sounds a little illogical to him without loving himself first
He still doesn't understand how spiritual luxuries are sold
Superficial animals, guided by material goods
He is a humble man, so he digs through the rubble
To see that no one is looking over their shoulder
He is more faithful to a piece of paper than to the honey of a skin
And he never talks about his rap, since his rap speaks for him
He gives his life to his rhymes on a stage
To feel in heaven when he sees a hand up
Don't let the fallen fall, give the fallen a hand
And for thinking of doing good, several fakes have fallen on him
To date he collects about eighteen summers
That have become eighteen constant winters
He knows the importance of every dream
That the disposition of their owners is crucial to observe them
He knows that the night is long for dreamers
And that no matter how small they are, you have to fight to achieve them
He is clear that time modifies his thoughts
And instead of shouting, he improves his argument
His whole life was a lie, and he wanted to be sincere
The main reason why he became a rapper
Many know Mc Flako, but few know Andrés
And that although rap was born there, he doesn't like rap in English
He doesn't translate songs from different languages that come his way
He prefers to make his songs and have them translated in the USA
He makes rap for those who understand that a rapper is one who feels it
He is not a singer, only in lyrics he describes what is most constant
And that people understand that a rapper is not a delinquent
But not many collaborate with delusions of thugs
His songs do not have choruses or expensive productions
That is to say, they put their heart into it to make things clear to you
And although they suggest choruses to make it more catchy
There is nothing more catchy than saying things with desire
He clings to his roots, his scaffolding and his bases
He doesn't care that the commercial hits more than what he does
Although many individuals give him wrong advice
He is aware that with conscience, you can also go far
You don't grow up among your own because of a good song
Nor does he need a photo in the recording studio
Call him whatever you want, for him that is presumption
He redeems himself, and revives with the verses with which he exhibits
He writes about what he lives, but he doesn't live from what he writes
He can rap non-stop from today until next October
Without being badly accustomed to rapping out of habit
For him it is not wrong to be discreet at various times
Since it distinguishes you as being timely and necessary
He thinks it is pertinent to mention several comments
And even more so when it comes to your stay on a stage
Don't talk to him like an MC, talk to him like a brother
Because before he was a rapper he was already a human being
Don't talk to him like that man who only raps consciously
Because before he was a rapper he was already a living being
I'm real, what a superficial phrase
And he believes that the supposed real ones are the problem
The fact of being born into a dysfunctional family
It's more real than yelling I'm real in all your songs
I'm real, what a phrase without clarity
Since the real one is that tangible being who lives on realities
And although he has never lived in need
He knows what it is to be wrong and not have opportunities
Improvising, no mishap is visible to him
Cut your advance and respond to every rhyme you throw at him
With or without a theme imposed, the best of him
In rhymes and verses calmly wears down his soul and skin
He is faithful to healthy competition, without egocentrism
He only competes to show that there are intelligent rappers
He only competes to prove himself
And meet goals that Mc Flako has previously set for himself
It is obvious to him that his enemies love him with hatred
Since he has never rapped for medals or podiums
Let a diploma-valid paper not matter to you
If at the end of the day you haven't learned to be a person in your life
He raps simply, to fill himself spiritually
Since his spirit reflects the experience of his years
Rapping has helped him understand how to love with the mind
And that advice and scolding help to climb steps
Rap is art but art is not rap by definition
With delicate and other strong strokes, he paints fine rhymes
From Van Gogh's scream to Michael and his creation
He will end up giving his art in the Sistine Chapel
He doesn't paint masterpieces, he takes steps with his word
Showing that he is an artist and better than Pablo Picasso
He makes modest, chronic, logical comments
He is not Da Vinci but he has his own codes
His rhymes are, for him, classified as a source of life
And it's an ace up his sleeve to combat routine
In addition, many saints cover his days
Since he tranships in San Antonio, and his departure in Santa Lucia
Before dreaming, he thinks, and after dreaming, he reacts
Since a person without dreams is simply a person
The past is like time, which slowly distresses you
It encourages you to fulfill your future dreams in the present
On his walk in rap he has silenced the mouths of idiots
Who think they are MC's because they wear big clothes
Being an MC is more about singing, not so much about clothing
Since I've never seen a t-shirt from the eighties rapping
Being an MC is more about what you think with your feelings
You only need a mind hungry for knowledge
A notebook, a pen, a clear essence
So that you can think it all through without having to say anything
He knows it's true that he attends many concerts and events
But unlike others, he doesn't go there to be recognized
He's just going to spend time next to 4 elements
And not to meet people and then end up in the donut
He has never rapped seeking to please others
Since his primary objective has been to have calm and peace
Remember this, even if you forget everything else
A poet is just a musician who never learned to sing
He is habitually criticized for being so individual
Without specifying, it is from a more general point
From thought, music, football, and the rational
Even to his carnal attraction, and his inactive sex life
In 18 years gone by and very well lived
He has understood that you are not what you have read
And the number of songs he has written without motion
Is equal to the number of vaginas he has known (NONE)
He is the man of the house and only lives with three ladies
And this has led him to understand that they are not synonymous with bed
That he is clear that that woman, who wears necklines
His primary goal is for you to notice his huge tits
While dancing in barrio Colombia on a Friday night
The skinny guy doesn't fall asleep, for being in his notebooks
As you end the party you come home and sleep
He stays awake reciting verses to his hells
So many partners who rap for leisure without being sincere
Seeking business in a culture he doesn't even love
They don't want to be distinguished, just get money
Therein lies the difference between respect and fame
Great minds always talk about weighty ideas
Average minds talk about facts about their face
Small minds always talk about simple events
And poor minds settle for talking about others
And if I speak in the third person throughout the song
It is for you to understand that I am not the only one who is part of the problem
Since many times I try to find the solution
To so many silly rappers who don't put their hearts into their singing
Raison d'être, inspiration to make pawns grow
In the swing of evil where good also makes decisions
I'm mc flako, and I try to fill myself with songs
And fill you in part with art worked with my balls

On the beat is Favela, which teaches more than a school
And it leaves you sequels, since it adds rhythm to an arrhythmic with its a cappella (fly, fly)
On the rhymes and phrases that were taken out of a sack
There's a life, lacking class, named Mc Flako