Troca

What is it like to grow up with violence at the door
And compulsorily leave school
Negotiating my body is not an exchange
A life cannot be paid with coins or notes
Dirty dress, blood on the edge
The more violence the transvestite endures
He left home to buy a ball
Little black girls carry sweets in their bags
And the queer on the street lost track of time
A 150 touches her, she stops and plays
The fireworks warn us, there will be an exchange
Triggered, pigs coming from the slum
They didn't even spare school time
Interrupting dreams in this false exchange

Body exchange, exchange of exchange
Change the filter, exchange of exchange
Body exchange, exchange of exchange
Change the filter, child

What is it like to grow up with violence at the door
And compulsorily leave school
Negotiating my body is not an exchange
A life cannot be paid with coins or notes
Dirty dress, blood on the edge
The more violence the transvestite endures
He left home to buy a ball
Little black girls carry sweets in their bags
And the queer on the street lost track of time
A 150 touches this crazy one plays
The fireworks warn us, there will be an exchange
Triggered, pigs coming from their slum
They didn't even spare school time
Interrupting a dream in this false exchange

Body exchange, exchange of exchange
Change the filter, exchange of exchange
Body exchange, exchange of exchange
Change the filter

Dead child
Exchange, exchange, exchange, exchange

In my house, in my life through the window
A shot every day, every day
Every day, every day
Every day with fear
Body exchange

Dead child