Always with the same shit, I don't stop turning it around, I have the tarot, always machining run run. Thousands of nights in candles, scratching the keyboard, without the bass, punishing like Bipo. Fire in the alley, kids with alcohol, how they take us, the kids on the Iphone. We are not surrounded by glamour, bastard, we are on the bar, giving fucking disgust, I still don't dance and boom, you feel like Rectumba, some pending cause and a drawer full of fines, if I would never load with guilt again, with her to the end of the world, with my brother to the grave. We are zeros to the account, how they demand, what offer, if they didn't close the door for Don Don. Many years giving wax, running from the wood, we already have more roads than Tom Tom. Fire in the chain, skulls and scorpions, they uncover the machine, for you the neighborhood. Not every day is a party, bastard, I pose in the tent, I think the police officer dies. Boom, I go with desire of Rumba, it is normal that the night confuses me, it already hurts and we have only put the tips, with her to the end of the world and with my brother to the grave. Boom, I go with desire of Rumba, it already hurts and we have only put the tips, with my brother to the end of the world and with my brother to the grave.