En el coco una mierda (en inglés)

En el coco una mierda
[Sbrv]
I was leaning against the bar drunk, smoking a Chester;
in my coconut there is a laboratory
like Dexter.

You don't listen or feel,
neither Rappel nor Aramis,
was Rapha de Logroño
who predicted this beat for me.
Lubricate this gun well
to spit,
and when it touches your skin,
believe me, it will make you more than a pupa.
How does honey taste
of these phrases you occupy?,
if they live far away and well,
without following your route.
I have the kit, my job is a shit
in a supermarket,
and this face is a cover
from a heavy rap factory.
Visionary
for a thousand years;
it costs a lot of effort
swimming among piranhas.
It's not the millennium theme
I don't believe Stieg Larsson,
but I forget the collapse,
the sound of the horn.
I travel away from the engine
of consumerism, of the arm;
I show you the panorama
out there in one stroke.

I have a lot to smoke
and a pen that burns;
this ordeal goes on the inside
but you can't see it from the outside.
I don't know what it's about,
it doesn't stay with them;
my voice sounds on your computer
and that's proof.
I write for young people
awake, that's a few;
do you know what interests me
Maria Teresa Campos?
I would make compost,
then a coat
of each skin of those who make us
believe who the enemy is.
And when he sees that his feet
go into the niche,
will take a look back,
you will see that it was all a whim.
Try to survive
even if everything gets complicated
and remember this landscape well
before they build.
[Chorus]
So let my text guide you
and not to lose you;
you have three careers
but in the bogeyman a shit.

I dream and they say:
buff, this is great;
what you need
is a furnished head. (bis)
[Bridge]
This song is dedicated to
for my friend Joseba.
The bad stays,
the good stuff goes, here we go...
[Sbrv]
The fakir returns
if in each sentence you catch a sword;
eight years of riding
on tireless rhythms.
And on 20-10
things are difficult,
I said "mum, I don't want to grow up
surrounded by a bunch of jerks".
Yes, that's how I knew,
I lost track
in the face of a prohibitive government
disguised as a socialist.
Primitive!,
if they're all storytellers;
I must be the spark that burns you,
to keep the fire alive.
It is the procession,
the compression that is inside,
and connect with your other self
of a more awake world.

Citizens of the world
they are mute, there is no longer an echo;
they want your brain half dead,
half dry and can.
Emergency letters
for critical situations;
I'm looking for you
if you identify with this.
No cross or mosque,
no bread or holy water:
is union
what this club needs.
[Chorus]
So let my text guide you
and not to lose you;
you have three careers
but in the bogeyman a shit.
I dream and they say:
buff, this is great;
what you need
is a furnished head.
So let my text guide you
and not to lose you;
you have three careers
but in the bogeyman a shit.
I dream and they say:
buff, this is great,
the best thing that has happened to me
is that nothing has happened to me.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)