The Cypher Respect Vol. 2

[Scratches DJ Gio Marx]
We don’t read and write poetry because it’s pretty
We read and write poetry because we belong to the human race
Let the powerful piece continue
You can write a verse
What would your verse be?

[Buneco]
I wanna take over the world like Pinky and the Brain
They told me to use my head so I bit like Cerberus
I rhyme for the hustlers on this beat, oh
Who can’t afford streetwear but dresses for street war
I’m not the Pope, I don’t forgive those who sin when they grab the Bic
They wanna be Pac or BIG, they’re more like Peppa Pig
In the middle of Hip Hop, they’ll never get ratings
I traffic information inside the BOPE’s armored truck
Showing there’s a link between Mars, Jupiter, Queens
Martin Luther King, art, struggle, and so on
Art is struggle and yes, art profits, and that’s it
Better stop here or this part won’t end
For those who think my color is a Greek gift
I’ll smash you on Spotify, beat you up in the street
In this lesson, you learn that rap is a blackboard
Where I keep teaching, writing with white chalk

[Coruja BC1]
Weak rappers remind me of my fee, I’ll pocket it
This is Coruja BC1 who turned the game around
Torment like the tape from The Ring playing
Hattori Hanzo on the chickens, spirits of plucked souls
I’ve seen stars fall from the sky, but they weren’t shooting
They got lost in stardom and now they’re fading stars
Harry O, not Harry Potter, my mind is my weapon
My lyrics are my Horcruxes, they all contain my soul
A blade in the hands of haters, to the snitches, try to miss me
A gift horse doesn’t get its teeth checked, that’s how Troy lost the war
Nostratrack, everything I rhyme is prophecy
I make your mind flood in the era of empty lyrics
This is the moment your fans will migrate
But I’m not Donald Trump, so I won’t block them
Bastard Inglório on your forehead, I made a cut
The flowers on your face aren’t your lucky coin
I keep going, dodging the world, Edcity send me a beat
For me to be Ronaldinho, we just need to record a feat
I messed around so much in the studio, bro, in terms of rhymes
That instrumentals now call me Macunaíma

[Gigante]
I’m frying my brain, roasting your tuber
In a lyrical year with the lyrics of the century
It’s serious, bro, despite the obstacles
God is the empirical verb in every prayer of the oracle
The devil sees that I fear being such a has-been
For the cousins to read and without a pin be, spitting Che at Pinochet
While the left and right feet are limping
The invisible hand screws the poor and we’re all in the banks’ hands
We inherited the debts that time never pays
Republic isn’t Czech, but São Paulo is a plague
City of cubicles, country of large estates
Poverty creates an eternal gerund circle
In the end, the bills have no end
Smoking the butts, only those who hold the ends for me
I’ve been broken, that’s why I don’t splurge
Rap is the musical concert where I fit in

[Rincon Sapiência]
Okay
Guitar on the groove, I feel like I’m in the clouds
On the field, I’m like Pogba playing for Juve
Valued pass, I don’t stay without a club
Playing in clubs, I’m on the street beyond YouTube (Huh)
Two notes in the cash
I’m hustling on the stage making my withdrawal (Huh, hey)
Like a Rita movie
Screwed, I wanna be classic like a Cadillac (Huh)
Canoe head, rhymes that row
R-A-P, DNA’frica is in my genes
Brazil, where politics here doesn’t work
I don’t know if it moves you, it works in memes
In the jump, my doubt is if it’s bungee
Or face down like Temer and Trump
Fire in the kunk because we’re kings and queens
Kings and queens because we’re Tupiniquis

[Xamã]
Roll the bad beat, the daring groove, stepping
On the worms that disbelieve, passing comedy like iron Walitta
Xamã with a lunchbox
Heading to the fight, smoking a flower, eating a fruit, getting high
Cold beer at the bar in Tijuca, pass me the joint, tell me where I am
How am I? I’ve got a hell of a headache
Breaking these fingers with punchlines that kick
Following my goal, recruiting with complete rhymes with punchlines, cicuta, pen, pen
Coffee in the mug with several ants on the sugar bread, escape pilot
300 thousand leagues, breathe and navigate, I’m like a turtle (Uga)
Like Donatello, I ordered mozzarella, did the rain dance, dry it
The guys don’t deliver in my favela, don’t pass the curve, dirty
Skating, high, listening to Coruja, run
With my old sacred jeans, Napalm machine gun
I saw the Indians knocking Harry Potter off the broom
The students scoring 7 are the teacher’s terror
Buarque Construction, we are the builders
With my old sacred jeans, Napalm machine gun
I saw the Indians knocking Harry Potter off the broom
The students scoring 7 are the teacher’s terror
Buarque Construction, we are the builders

[Eko]
Rap feeds me, after all
The bread of each day is much more than French bread
Punching with a knife only with an English punch
On horseback, I take the tower and we’re all kings
The black and the white together, a chessboard
My move makes you see
The movement in the AACD, the B, Boy loses the B
It’s my own action, against appropriation
The intention, the exposure of what the copies are
Without English classes, I know the translation of punch is punch
Justice with my own hands
The false information wants to drug me, I’m real!
I’m not alone, look around me, how many monsters there are
Brick by brick, it’s the most concrete argument
Niemeyer gave me an Oscar for the construction
Attentive to what dominates everything, money is the new language
I keep pounds in the nightstand

[Sant]
Lion of the world to the north, Sant
Wild beast, remembered us when he heard let go of the wheel
Trying to prove to my people that we are free
I dug my own grave, unhappy man who lives
But see in me my relatives
For we are what we are, transparent
Giving birth to a new Messiah in the studio
Gold, incense, and myrrh while rape is consented and protest is a tantrum
They want the crown jewels
I need strong arms to never tip the canoe
I know things you would doubt
And in one idea, I would even reconsider
See things that no one here would see
So be much more yourself, or who else here would be?
Caucasian darkness, black light at the end of the tunnel
They scream: Segregation, I whisper: Unite them

[Rashid]
I’m from the time when Cyphers were free
Dirtier than Dercy’s vocabulary
Words that describe the people like Darcy
The opposite of MC who subtracts the M and only remembers the C
Inspired by the roots, not the beef
I wore out soles to get here like Luan on the grind
I’m rap BR while some copy so many foreigners
That it’s missing to say: Brazilian Version Herbert Richers
Hard level ghetto
I bring the hood in my lines like buses at 6 in the evening
And the stress level is also the same
And the bias isn’t random to reach the feet of Sérgio Vaz and Ferrez
Nas and Dead Prez, Guru, Jazzmatazz, go
Who knows the top ten
Like Moses brings faith in us, but
Parting seas is left behind
The beef now is to open minds
Missionary of the streets on the way
I put so much faith in this that my rap turned into rhythm and prophecy
For our own, always eager
My year is lyrical since 1988
And what is lyricism to you?
To the MCs who think about what is said, I have to thank
And for the snitches, so much heat has come out of my studio
That I’m calling it a dojo