Bandido de Balaclava

With iron and fire, fire and bullets, balaclava bandit
Flipping over the patrol cars, the tactical, the falcon, the boats
Black music hides the face, but not the warlike feeling
The psycho monsters with ninja speed carrying the iron

Bullets on the armored glass of FAL, AK
At the cashier's mouth, if things get crazy, it goes down
Bullet in the open head, if things get crazy
Balaclava bandit, no demon puts terror

If it's a studied case, a given case, easy peasy, just chill
Balaclava bandit is ready to die, ready to kill
Castle smokes by hand, 762
Walther PPK, Golden Gun, Bersa 22

The foot of the job, the foot of the case is to seek what it desires
Work on top of the situation, follow it to the letter
Beautiful life, life is beautiful, peace, justice, freedom
Cruel Reality and CTS without massaging

I've been with ninja speed, with hollow point in my pocket
I've been to the breaking point, the target, in the crazy scene
In a big Golf, with the pilots, hood and revolver
C4, at the ATM Molotov

Nextel tuned in all the time with the Faction
In the trunk of the V8, precision rifles
In the ''Plin plin'' shift, the black music gang
For the tower the monsters, (Oh, if you saw the kids, felt confident)

Picked up the situation, killed the police and left without a scratch
I think those bands are all faction firms
A good bandit is a dead bandit, that's what the police say
Balaclava bandit doesn't leave the situation with tied hands

Afterwards it's all party, paid for by the black music gang
Not every ending is happy, there are facts that end up in the gutter
The balaclava fell, the revolver shots
Briefcase to the side, body on the ground, holding the Kalashnikov

Ratings for Datena, Honorable mention for the PM
The urgent Brazil, the jerk says: (Mister M's mask fell)
That's because he's never seen a Jason from Titan and square
Carrying a British clavina and a balaclava

''Let's go, here's the deal, I just want the money,
everyone on the ground, let's go, let's go damn it, everyone on the ground, damn it
move!''

Tell the ants that the tamandua doesn't stick
Cruel Reality and Soundtrack Hunters

It's CTS, Good for us, excuse me my buddy
The deal is wet in the minefields called the street
Several in the patrol car, which reversed and called in the shin
With FAL at the mall door (Tell the whores there's a party today)

Whiskey all night, Smirnoff, fish scale
The kids are all bandits, bad is the crime, not the cream
They grew up in this rhythm and understood from an early age
That to die you just need to be alive regardless of being white or black

I've also been on the run and risked my freedom
Today a RAP singer, almost 40 years old
Hey bro, hey girl, the path is the book of life
The truth hurts but liberates amidst the carnage

On the tracks, Opalas key
Every corner, every corner, the corner workers
Understand the message well, that we are here temporarily
With us the cowards don't stick, no coward sticks

And fuck the resentment, the dirty beak
When the police invade the favelas the result is grieving families
Damn, scoundrel, crime is like a magnet
Today a big shot on the street, tomorrow, sad in the pen

Brick shack, worn-out flip-flops
Sweat dripping on the face, dignity intact
No longer serves as inspiration
The kids dream of cars, the kids dream of being bosses

In the middle of the civil war, every man for himself
Whether by point, by touch, rifle, clinging to Lucifer
balaclava bandit, truth, time doesn't stop
In the pursuit of millions, how many didn't end up in the ditch

Countdown, who's in the run today
Knows well what it's like to live between dream and death
I stopped in front of the church steps and looked
The sign of the cross, silently prayed

I asked God for a little peace in the jungle
there's a 14-year-old kid dying here in the war
See if you listen, balaclava bandit
A little with God is a lot, and a lot without God is nothing

That's how it is, Soundtrack Hunters,
Cruel Reality, Uberaba-MG, Interior of São Paulo, 019 original
That's how it is
Total firmness to all the brothers who listen to us
To all the ladies who listen to us
Whether in the favelas, in the outskirts
In the hills, in the tenements or in the slums
may God bless all the balaclava bandits
That's how it is Brazil, that's how it is family
KAMIKA-Z, yeah
Lots of peace, lots of love
May the war be one day extinguished, by our Lord
It's us
Cruel Reality, 2012, 13, 14, forever
Lots of peace, don't trip