Текст и перевод песни Gran Rah - Niño Escritor

Niño Escritor

Hijo de un papa que nunca estuvo y padre de la letra
El tiempo fue el verdugo y nunca detuvo su mente inquieta
La soledad se odiaba mientras mama trabajaba
Poco hablaba se desahogaba si dibujaba

Mojaba la cama sin intensión
Mama no encontraba otra solución
Que marcar su cara con, cada cinturón
Llamarlo el niño meón, no contaba que su cara conectaba el corazón

Y lloro, solo lloro de dolor
Oro, pero su oración solo al techo llego
Dejo de creer pero nunca de creer en Dios
Sabia que había algo mas aya del sol

Conoció el alcohol también la calle sus trucos
Freestales en timbales de ver al mas raper de su grupo
Supo, mantener el humo sin toser
Y que el vino puro trajo humo del sumo placer

Vino hacer el coler repitente de primero medio
Reprobó lenguaje, matemática pero era un genio
Y pocos lo sabían, en su cuaderno el escondía
Rial poesía que aparecía se oscurecía

Como vampiro sin luz del día, su rima era tan fría
Que el reloj se congelaba si escribía yo sabia
Que la guía del rap seria lo que día a día
Sufrirá los días de tempestad

Su corazón un desastre, muy poco sociable
Quería una mujer para amarte y abrasarte
Pero no era Nick Carter, solo era uno mas
Con poca personalidad y mas de inseguridad

Muy poco de hablar, pero mucho que decir
No se enamoraban de el se enamoraban del Mc
Mujeres que querían estar en el beat frecuentemente
Prometieron amor y las promesas siempre mienten

""
Crucificados al destino
Convierten su dolor en grito
Siempre frente a un micro
Con el alma rota desde chico

Puede ser tu hermano
Decidir entre vivir o escribir
Los motivos para ser Mc
Nadie elige lo que quiere vivir

Niño rico quiere ser como el debe estar loco
Para poder ser el debes tener foco
Como el niño escritor que puso flow a su dolor
Y convirtió su canción de hip-hop en cada desahogo

Diagolos con Dios eran monólogos solo un micrófono
Solo un psicologo, para su temor, solo y autónomo
Busco tonos y coros los coloco como pomos
En plomo en cada reglón

La tele es una mierda eso decía en su sex
Pero la mierda fue el abono que las hizo crecer
No quería envejecer ni que pasaran los minutos
Quería morir siendo niño como Benjamín Button

Mundo oscuro lleno de humo y de malos augurios
De vacunas con mercurio para niños del futuro es duro
Es puro dolor, si el mundo se queda mudo
Asume el rol de escritor crudo y usa de escudo el don

Con el que tritura muros divisorios monopolio
Convirtió el petroleo en sangre del demonio
Es obvio que hay hielo en sus ojos y agobio
En sus Folios y hay velorio en el globo y hay robo en nuestro patrimonio

No esta sordo el esta escuchando el silencio
De cientos de vidas que pagaron el precio
Con sudor y esfuerzo sentencia
Al dolor eterno a aquellos que hacen del mundo un infierno

Solo por dinero y es que el culpable es el clero
Es el bolsillo del gobierno mira el cielo
Busca a dios y no lo encuentra
Debe de estar ciego

No se piensa rendir, no, sin antes decir que,
Vivimos como si quisiéramos morir
Al margen de la vida supo lo dificil de vivir
Pero mas difícil vivir de la rima

Que le dio casa y comida en mas de una ocasión
Tarima tras tarima deja trozos de corazón...

""
Crucificados al destino
Convierten su dolor en grito
Siempre frente a un micro
Con el alma rota desde chico

Puede ser tu hermano
Decidir entre vivir o escribir
Los motivos para ser Mc
Nadie elige lo que quiere vivir.

Writer Boy

Son of a father who was never there, and father to the lyrics
Time was the executioner, never stopping his restless mind
Loneliness hated itself while mama worked
He spoke little, he vented if he drew

He wet the bed unintentionally
Mama found no other solution
Than to mark his face with each belt
Calling him the pissing boy, she didn't realize his face connected to the heart

And he cried, only cried in pain
He prayed, but his prayer only reached the ceiling
He stopped believing, but never stopped believing in God
He knew there was something more beyond the sun

He met alcohol, also the street and its tricks
Freestyles on timbales, dreaming of being the best rapper in his group
He knew how to hold the smoke without coughing
And that pure wine brought smoke of the highest pleasure

He became the repeater of the first half of the year
He failed language, math, but he was a genius
And few knew it, in his notebook he hid it
Royal poetry that appeared and darkened

Like a vampire without daylight, his rhyme was so cold
That the clock froze if he wrote, I knew
That the guide of rap would be what day by day
Would make him suffer the stormy days

His heart a mess, very unsociable
He wanted a woman to love and embrace
But he wasn't Nick Carter, he was just one more
With little personality and more insecurity

Very little to say, but a lot to tell
They didn't fall in love with him, they fell in love with the MC
Women who wanted to be on the beat frequently
Promised love, and promises always lie

""
Crucified to destiny
They turn their pain into a scream
Always in front of a microphone
With a broken soul since childhood

It could be your brother
Deciding between living or writing
The reasons to be an MC
Nobody chooses what they want to live

Rich kid wants to be like him, he must be crazy
To be him you have to have focus
Like the writer boy who put flow to his pain
And turned his hip-hop song into each outlet

Dialogues with God were monologues, just a microphone
Just a psychologist, for his fear, alone and autonomous
He searched for tones and choruses, placed them like pommels
In lead on each line

TV is shit, that's what he said in his sex
But the shit was the fertilizer that made them grow
He didn't want to grow old or let the minutes pass
He wanted to die a child like Benjamin Button

Dark world full of smoke and bad omens
Of vaccines with mercury for children of the future, it's hard
It's pure pain, if the world goes mute
He assumes the role of a raw writer and uses his gift as a shield

With which he crushes dividing walls, monopoly
He turned oil into the devil's blood
It's obvious there's ice in his eyes and burden
In his folios and there's a wake in the globe and there's theft in our heritage

He's not deaf, he's listening to the silence
Of hundreds of lives that paid the price
With sweat and effort he sentences
To eternal pain those who make the world a hell

Just for money, and the culprit is the clergy
It's the government's pocket, look at the sky
He looks for God and can't find him
He must be blind

He doesn't plan to give up, no, not before saying that,
We live as if we wanted to die
On the margins of life he knew how difficult it was to live
But more difficult to live off the rhyme

That gave him home and food on more than one occasion
Stage after stage, he leaves pieces of his heart...

""
Crucified to destiny
They turn their pain into a scream
Always in front of a microphone
With a broken soul since childhood

It could be your brother
Deciding between living or writing
The reasons to be an MC
Nobody chooses what they want to live.