Enfermo

Caucasian, short stature, twenties, his fingerprints don't seem, it's strange
The beggar who brought him, told the nurse 'the only thing he knows is that his name is canserbero'
Dilated pupils, bleeding from the nose, only mumbled and curiously everything rhymed
But what really caught attention; the X-ray indicated a stone in the heart
And the neighbors say he rarely slept, read, rapped, wrote all day
He must have collapsed, this malnourished, he may be obsessed with rhyming the wretched
He has no family, maybe no friends, real hip hop indicates in the DNA test
His eyes are red, inject morphine, because sometimes he says he's going to break a stage
And that the police found stored in his house, millions of notebooks with lyrics he hasn't recorded
With a worn-out radio with a cassette inserted full of 90s hip hop on both sides
Something is wrong with him his presence makes me tremble not to mention the nurse who helped him urinate
He doesn't remember anything, then he couldn't stop crying, when we arrived and saw him receiving oral sex
He only manages to urinate on a commercial CD, on a bible or on the presidential speech
Today they have to operate on him, his brain can't take it anymore he has mental advancement
And he shows it when he sings. His blood is very cold
I looked in the psychology book and his obsession is called lyricalogy
Complicated condition that was believed to no longer exist in rappers today
But this case is the most serious, he knows almost everything, coordinates perfect words he searches with a key
His grave voice raises hairs produces faithful in ideas that refer to changing the world
The bruises on his fists suggest to me that he fights for what he wants
He doesn't envy what others have, in the form of a microphone he has the genes
Witnesses claim they saw heaters in him... ouh

He is sick of hip hop, au
He is doomed, for everything the wretched has written
But he is not satisfied, the very shameless

He is sick of hip hop, au
He is doomed, for everything the wretched has written
But he is not satisfied, the very shameless

Fixed gaze and his hand trembled, fixed gaze and his hand trembled
Until out of nowhere he said shut up, get me paper and pencil quickly and get out
I began to think that he suffered from something superior, that made him look superior in philosophy
When I approached and heard the lyrics he wrote which seemed written by a messiah
He said something about Latin America, lyrics, music, perfect, unique and unpublished
Music for maniacs in my way of thinking I start to think what if I also went crazy
Because it seems to me that I want to raise my hand it is unethical coming from a graduated doctor
From the best university we have which by the way they gave the nerve with which they have stolen it
Returning to the subject call the nurse the patient began to improvise very severe realities
Bring the straitjacket and in that of killing trash mc's don't let him convince you
He thinks before we think, maybe we should hate him, love him since we don't understand him
We know he has little time left and when he leaves they will forget him like all those who have died

He is sick of hip hop, au
He is doomed, for everything the wretched has written
But he is not satisfied, the very shameless

He is sick of hip hop, au
He is doomed, for everything the wretched has written
But he is not satisfied, the very shameless