Текст и перевод песни Escolta De Guerra - Sangre de Guerra (Botas Manchadas)

Sangre de Guerra (Botas Manchadas)

Escolta De Guerra
Sigue con su lucha armada, gonzalo es leyenda, con bazooca
En mano
Su armamento es de primera, carga su pechera, armas por
Todos lados
El 11 o el macho prieto, el jefe el maestro, de la vieja
Escuela
Trae las manos encalladas, las botas manchadas, con sangre
De guerra

Con huellas de la batalla, quince años en lucha, y no se ha
Cansado
Recibe reparte y no lucra, su rango es de altura, como un
Siciliano
Avanza en la linea de fuego, por mar y desierto, pues es
Su poder
Nuevas plazas inaugura, franquicias seguras, tierras de mp

El general esta herido, por grandes amigos, que han muerto
Peleando
Pero calibre cincuenta, revienta blindaje, los sigue
Vengando
La mafia nunca perdona, se expande en la zona, en uno
Se alertan
Estrategias en su mente, ataca de frente, contra cualquier
Presa

Conmemorado en medalla, les sobran agallas, su gente es
De acción
El comanche da una orden, levanten las armas, fuego a
Discreción
El equipo va en aumento, son casi seiscientos, los que
Hay que vencer
Porque sus fieles muchachos, son unos guerreros, que
Mueren por el

Su comando viene armado, con treinta blindados, presiona
Con fuerza
Casi al caer derrotado, misiles estallan, ganando la guerra
El jefe nunca escatima, sobre artilleria, es super avanzado
Rifles balas expansivas, y entre su arsenal, barrets
Importados

Pasan las generaciones, y los nuevos nombres, se llenan
De gloria
Gonzalo no ocupa linajes, en cada pasaje, lo enmarca
La historia
Abriendo nuevos caminos, mete al enemigo, sobre su
Trinchera
Sigue con su lucha armada, y las botas manchadas,
Con sangre de guerra

Blood of War (Stained Boots)

War Escort
Continues his armed struggle, Gonzalo is a legend, with a bazooka
In hand
His weaponry is top-notch, he loads his chest, arms from
All sides
11 or the dark stallion, the chief, the master, of the old
School
His hands are calloused, his boots are stained, with war
Blood

With traces of the battle, fifteen years in battle, and he has not
Tired
He receives, distributes and does not profit, his rank is high, as a
Sicilian
He advances on the front line, by sea and desert, because it is
His power
He inaugurates new posts, secure franchises, lands of mp

The general is wounded, by great friends, who have died
Fighting
But caliber fifty, bursts through armor, he keeps
Avenging
The mob never forgives, it spreads throughout the area, in one
They alert each other
Strategies in his mind, he attacks head-on, against any
Prey

Commemorated in medals, their guts overflow, their people are
Of action
The Comanche gives an order, raise your weapons, fire at
Discretion
The team is growing, there are almost six hundred, those who
Must be defeated
Because his faithful boys, are warriors, who
Die for him

His command is armed, with thirty armored cars, he presses
With force
Almost at the point of defeat, missiles explode, winning the war
The Chief never skimps on artillery, he is super advanced
Rifles expanding bullets, and among his arsenal, barrets
Imported

Generations pass, and the new names, are filled
Of glory
Gonzalo does not occupy lineages, in each passage, it is framed
History
Opening new paths, puts the enemy over his
Trench
He continues his armed struggle, and his boots stained,
With the blood of war