Rotina

The beak thinks if it talks about the street, about the party, I just write
Every dawn, while the Sun and the Moon take turns, I must
Fulfill my weird ritual, I turn the TV on mute
I go back to MP, I keep plugging in certain inputs
Damn! I put yesterday's tea to heat
I listen to record after record, the vinyl that the uncle discounts
I go back to the ones I like, without risk: Wow, it's going to be sampleable! (If I mark)
Before 5, another rap is ready
My rhymes talk about everything that was born from some nothing
Along with laughter on the bus, coming back from some party
I stay in the corner, silent, with a focused mind
I sketch a pissed smile, but I don't turn my face away from the sidewalk
The dew drips on the shining glass, right?!
And the shine reminds me of my wife's gaze
And then come another 500 thousand thoughts
Predicting where my relationships are going
If suffering, bro, is so common where I come from
I'm so afraid of distance killing everything I have
Distance, my friend, is not several square kilometers
How many times are you distant, even when you're by my side
Lonely and short, that's how my days are
While my nights are confusing and cold
The tea boils in the kitchen, because I'm there with the little radio
Pressing play on Cartola, I hate suffering alone!

Listening to a quiet beat
With the headphones in the corner, with my little disks
I count so much rhythm, while I think about the rhyme
Sometimes it's 7, and I haven't finished the routine

Listening to a quiet beat
With the headphones in the corner, with my little disks
I count so much rhythm, while I think about the rhyme
Sometimes it's 7, and I haven't finished the routine

I won't finish! How many times doesn't it reach 8, 9, 10?
I'm there excommunicating the cables that squeak, messing up my jazz
That's why I'm forced to make some blurry verses
So the guys don't even realize the sample is all crackling
And my life is a freestyle on a beat that hasn't stopped for 20-something years
I don't leave the time because I'm always listening
More than speaking, the grumpy one
From too many words is born contradiction
I didn't need to read Confucius, buddy
To know that there can't be distance between what I do and what I say
If I reached out to you, it's because I'd die for you, man
Fuck Emicida! Jacira taught that to Leandro
Life stuff, the kind you consume
Being raised by a woman is what made me a man
It would make a movie, oh it would
Every dawn I go through with my agonies
I think at 6 in the morning, only I look at the horizon
I value the sunrise, seeking the verses at the source
The pad demands my attention, I return
And the sky gives inspiration, I start
Thinking about women, friends, life, the universe
Focused, because all of this has to fit in a single verse
I ask Cartola for permission, I put on an Adoniran
Because the rooster is already crowing and it's 6 in the morning again!

Listening to a quiet beat
With the headphones in the corner, with my little disks
I count so much rhythm, while I think about the rhyme
Sometimes it's 7, and I haven't finished the routine

Listening to a quiet beat
With the headphones in the corner, with my little disks
I count so much rhythm, while I think about the rhyme
Sometimes it's 7, and I haven't finished the routine