Текст и перевод песни Reno 871 - El Negro

El Negro

Miraló- Con 25 y va pelón
Pero que fachas de cabrón
De algo ha de servirle la apariencia de rufián
El gran haragán, escribe desde el Tejabán - Town

Suela de plástico, no de baqueta
Tiene sus llaves y anda el barrio en bicicleta
A veces aunque no haya sol usa su gorra
Con pantalones anchos, repelente para zorra

Y se acercan de todos modos
Va tambalenado y con los ojos rojos
Escucha una escuadra que corta
No la cagues, no dispares, no le importa

Quiere magia, le intriga el esoterismo
Y cree que lo que busca se esconde en el ocultismo
La verdad sin religión
No es alguien que reza, ni de iglesia, ni masón, no

Puede cambiar, sabe irritar
Ya no esperan más y no ha dado ni la mitad
Unos lo estiman en su clan y otros le desean el mal
Pero le vale verga, representa igual

Alerta noche y día
Ha confiado de culeros y amado entre las arpías
Haciendo que nada sabe
Esperando su momento en silencio como los grandes

Aparte- Arriba, no adelante
Cagante- Sustancioso y arrogante
Obedeciendo sus designios
Va con la bandera manchada y los tennis limpios

Con el don, donde la única opción es
Empezar de prisa y terminar sin ilusiones
Disciplina y presición
Su estilo libre es cagarla a la perfección

Dicen que viene de Torreón, su tierra
Y se dirije a donde el mundo acaba
Nunca parece satisfecho
Tiene escritos sus apellidos en el pecho

Envuelto en llamas, haciendo ruido
Mira La Flama - Está prendido
Y no- No lo quiere ni la flaca
No tiene más que su cuerpo como calaca

En paz consigo, pero entre líos
Lo más profundo de su vacío
Desde crío- impuro como impío
De letra oscura y ritmo sombrío

A veces fuma, y a veces toma
Y a veces ambas, y a veces más
Tambaleando, con los ojos rojos
Pero bien alerta, y cantando va
Concentrado para no fallar
En silencio para meditar
El Negro se ha detenido
Y pronto en la pared ha escrito
Eight Seven One

The Black One

Get a load of him - 25 and bald
But what a magnificent bastard
That ruffian appearance must be good for something
The great lazybones, writing from Tejabán - Town

Plastic soles, not leather
He's got his keys and rides his bike around the neighborhood
Sometimes he wears his cap even when there's no sun
With baggy pants, repellent to sluts

And they approach him anyway
He staggers around with bloodshot eyes
He hears a squad car screeching
Don't fuck up, don't shoot, he doesn't care

He wants magic, esotericism intrigues him
And he believes that what he seeks is hidden in the occult
Truth without religion
He's not someone who prays, or goes to church, or is a Mason, no

He can change, he knows how to irritate
They don't expect anything more and he hasn't even given them half
Some esteem him in their clan and others wish him harm
But he doesn't give a shit, he represents all the same

Alert night and day
He has trusted imbeciles and loved among harpies
Pretending that he knows nothing
Waiting for his moment in silence like the great ones

Aside- Upward, not forward
Cagante- Substantive and arrogant
Obeying his designs
He goes with his flag stained and his sneakers clean

With the gift, where the only option is
Starting in a hurry and ending without illusions
Discipline and precision
His freestyle is to mess it up perfectly

They say he comes from Torreón, his land
And he's headed where the world ends
He never seems satisfied
He has his last name written on his chest

Engulfed in flames, making noise
Look at the Flame - It's lit
And no- Not even the skinny one wants him
He has nothing but his body as a skeleton

At peace with himself, but in trouble
The deepest part of his void
Since he was a child- impure like unholy
With dark lyrics and somber rhythm

Sometimes he smokes, and sometimes he drinks
And sometimes both, and sometimes more
Staggering around, with bloodshot eyes
But fully alert, and singing he goes
Concentrating so as not to falter
In silence to meditate
The Black One has stopped
And soon on the wall he has written
Eight Seven One