Текст и перевод песни Funky - Se Están Matando (En Vivo) [feat. Dr. P]

Se Están Matando (En Vivo) [feat. Dr. P]

()
Se estan matando
Y se siguen perdiendo
No, no lo estan pensado
Tu debes aceptar lo que esta pasando Oye socio yo te veo como que desorientao'
Estas algarete descontrolao'
Yo se que estas en la moda
Estas guillao'
Pero te voy a contar como panas mios han terminao'
Vamos empesar por el gringo
Taba' vivo sabado y muerto domingo
En sus planes estaba estar alante'
Pa' poderlo ser se tiraba de mister maliante
Le tiraba a la gata que no era la de el
Sin saber que la muerte lo iba a sorprender
No existieron panas que lo ayudaran
Poco a poco sin Jesus moria y se desangraba
Su madre sufria su hermano lloraba
Deceando que regresara
Porque lo amaban
La tragedia a sus puertas tocaba
Y a los pocos dias lo enterraban

Se estan matando
No estan pensando
Se estan muriendo
Sigue sufriendo
Se estan matando
No estan pensado
Viven finjiendo
Siguen durmiendo...
Sal de ese viaje sal de esa oscuridad

Dime si quieres seguir viviendo en el avismo
Donde nos matamos nosotros mismos
Donde no existen los panas no exite nada
Solo resta confiar en el que nos ama
En el que entrego si vida por mi
En el que me amo a mi y tambien a ti
Yo que tu decido por el que te llama
Yo que tu decido por el que te ama
Yo que tu identifico su llamada
Yo que tu avanso el tiempo se acaba
Yo que tu hago una mejor jugada
Esto es pa' ayer no es pa' mañana

La guerra en los puntos... que esta pasando?
Vielencia domestica... que esta pasando?
El abuso infantil... que esta pasando?
Seguimos matando no estamos cambiando... que esta pasando?
Robando violando... que esta pasando?
Mintiendole al pueblo... que esta pasando?
La droga el alcohol... que esta pasando?
Se siguen perdiendo y d Dios ignorando

Se estan matando
No estan pensando
Se estan muriendo
Sigue sufriendo
Se estan matando
No estan pensado
Viven finjiendo
Siguen durmiendo...
Sal de ese viaje sal de esa oscuridad

They Are Killing Themselves (Live) [feat. Dr. P]

()
They are killing themselves
And they keep getting lost
No, they are not thinking
You must accept what is happening Hey buddy, I see you like you're disoriented
You're rowdy and out of control
I know you are in fashion
You're a fool
But I'm going to tell you how my friends have ended up
Let's start with the gringo
He was alive on Saturday and dead on Sunday
His plans were to be ahead
To be able to be that, he pretended to be a bad guy
He was chasing a girl who wasn't his
Not knowing that death was going to surprise him
There were no friends to help him
Little by little, without Jesus, he was dying and bleeding to death
His mother suffered, his brother cried
Wishing he would come back
Because they loved him
Tragedy knocked at their door
And a few days later they buried him

They are killing themselves
They are not thinking
They are dying
Keep suffering
They are killing themselves
They are not thinking
They live pretending
They keep sleeping...
Get out of that trip, get out of that darkness

Tell me if you want to keep living in the abyss
Where we kill ourselves
Where there are no friends, there is nothing
All that remains is to trust in the one who loves us
In the one who gave his life for me
In the one who loved me and also you
If I were you, I would decide for the one who calls you
If I were you, I would decide for the one who loves you
If I were you, I would identify his call
If I were you, I would move forward, time is running out
If I were you, I would make a better move
This is for yesterday, not for tomorrow

The war at the points... what's going on?
Domestic violence... what's going on?
Child abuse... what's going on?
We keep killing, we're not changing... what's going on?
Robbing, raping... what's going on?
Lying to the people... what's going on?
Drugs, alcohol... what's going on?
They keep getting lost and ignoring God

They are killing themselves
They are not thinking
They are dying
Keep suffering
They are killing themselves
They are not thinking
They live pretending
They keep sleeping...
Get out of that trip, get out of that darkness