Alegria

X-ray in the soul,
all his broken bones show on the plate, this trauma won't fix it,
here the plaster ones to mend my spirit,
that I don't put impetus into life, what do you know.

I have allergies to certain things, watery eyes,
candles in graves if cortisones don't cut them,
that doesn't matter, not lazy allergies, not short,
my body adapts in this way it adopts.

I took an astral trip to a distant planet,
and stepped on Earth so far with all its charms,
beautiful face but I also saw the globe's cross,
and I thought about coming down and all because I mess around.

I saw a kangaroo hitting a child,
she deserves to be raped, stoned, beaten in the main square,
sucking fiber from a woman, deserves at least a beating
vile guillotine or from scratch, a castration.

No forgiveness, everything inside, so no one knows my sorrows,
I sweat the tears and thus disguise miseries,
armpits don't give enough, rivers of tears,
river of everything and I'm so sad.

Cheer up with this song, I drink my rum and your rum
and I go home because it's late and I'm getting tanned from the sun,
allergic, not to penicillin, but that doctor
looks like a fool and gives me a bad feeling.

I'm allergic, cemeteries, hospitals,
the environment, let's say, is not very pleasant,
life is consumed like a smoked cigarette,
by a hardened tobacco smoker and with the wind on the side.

Then to ashes, that's what it all comes down to,
man, his Nobel or a Camel, or a Marlboro,
to hell with the intestine, it's a great maze,
like peristaltic peppers and with an end known to all.

Everything comes to an end, crying heals,
and I'm going to end up ass up,
and I'm not talking about shitting, I'll never escape from this panic room,
without help, tragic end.

My only way out is through the air conditioning grille,
and crawl towards the light in the next room,
I must disconnect the bomb, which cable do I choose?, the red or the white one?,
I have seconds left to be detonated.

Metaphors of life to the limit, some syncope,
between living and dead bordering,
and that liter, and me thirsty,
a passive waiter deserves on my part to tell his boss, fire him.

Allergic to party rap, fusion of function,
with him to the foundry,
cooled and with a full moon I am the snot man to end the curse,
silver bullets and golden handkerchiefs.

Allergic to not seeing her anymore,
if you see me looking at the sky and waving my hand, I'm greeting Pilar,
you'll be better there, for sure,
better than in this fucking world with no future, I have the zeal.

I'll fuck the duct tape through the hole,
with a condom so it sticks later,
sticking a poster on the wall with the face of some conservative leader,
and I'll throw darts at the eyes to blind him.

To these it's not an allergy, it's enough,
to the double P ones a hose hits them,
I only support one war and it's the one of styles like a bazooka, my peak,
and as a projectile my supersonic mic.

I'm hoarse, that's because I have allergies,
my sour face is due to my eternal enemy, joy,
I'm a guy with a serious smile,
if I survive death and I'm allergic to life.

Hey you, R de Rumba and master Sho-Hai are,
allergic to your rap of...,
any problem?, I'm the hip hop dude,
suck my fua bar, pop fans of...,
I'm allergic to politicians of...,
to traitors in rap you eat my...,
go all to the fucking...