Brincando de Marionete

The soundtrack is a gunshot, the scene is terror, the air is sad, there's a crowd
Sirens, police cars, calibers, 12, 38, see the stains on the ground
The black and white car defines the attraction
17, fell through the Pioneer CD in hand, the gun was a Glock
Someone with no fame, five shots to the head, passport to death
The acronym IML, defines your path
Eighth drawer in the fridge, a decomposed corpse
Of the style that floats in the river
Corpse for research, look at the point of the coroner
The poor are essential for medicine
Cut the brain, remove the lung, open the chest in half and eat the heart
It's a guided missile, remote control
Marionette of the Brazilian body system
I know the pigs applaud my coffin
Delirious in the cemetery, in detention
With our blood flowing on the ground
They want a bug on my wrist
To see me rotting in the X of a police station
Waiting in fever, Wednesday my jumbo, my visit
Maybe a line of cocaine, they want to see my hatred
My semi-automatic shooting at the Rota
Candle lit, my condolences, another corpse, another dead victim
They want me from the slums with one on the hip
And the pocket stuffed, pushing a cassette player
And giving 5g to your son
An AR15 fucking up the armored car, an AR15 in a bank, drinking your blood
In search of the safe, a stab in the chest of the scoundrel
A burst at the rich spoiled brats from Zoomp, Fórum
Racing with their bitches
Time bomb in your office
I want to see you look at me with disgust, no fax, computer, cell phone, at your funeral
I won't be on the ground reaching out to you, or eating your garbage
Use your money for the whores in the clubs, for your useless son's college
Use the money for whiskey, sports car
For the buffet at the luxury hotel, not the smell of your cocaine
I have dignity, I don't point the gun at your kind, I don't see a future
Real Salut, 12 gauge, lobster, caviar
Do your part, don't roll down the window at the traffic light
Don't show off your Rolex, so the .380 won't shoot
Or to not see the kid with a runny nose
With torn clothes, burned by cigarettes, wounds on the body, stinking
Screwing themselves begging for money
For a mother or father, sons of bitches for booze, cigarettes, crack
What neurosis, the despair
Then the blood rises, there must be a burial
Shotgun blast to the face, alcohol burning through the whole body, through the whole body
Then you're behind bars
Then you with the iron, making the rich kids pay toll
Your police report in the armored car, bank robbery
They're just pieces of a game
Where killing a thief is easier, it's acceptable
Here you go to jail, not to rehabilitate, but to see inmates kill each other
They throw crack in the slum, and wait for the result
Abracadabra, it rains dead
I've signed a 12, I know what it's like inside
Out here I discovered that inmates have a label on their forehead
Tattoo, stamp forever inmate
Eternal marionette, fell into the trap
Do the opposite, retire the calibers
Get rid of the cocaine, disband the gang
Think with your brain, not with the calibers
I trace my own path, it's Dundum, Faction
Far from crime, it's the system playing with marionettes

Playing with Marionettes
It's the system playing with marionettes
Playing with Marionettes
It's the system playing with marionettes

With arms open over the head of another corpse is Jesus
Giving his blessing as a prize
And accepting whoever is under his cross
Doesn't ask for a payslip, doesn't look at the color, doesn't pull the DVC
It doesn't matter if you went to college, if you have a higher education
Or if you knocked back a few before dying
I've never read the Bible, barely passed by a church door
I've never believed in religion
I only have God and one certainty
That here in hell, even the devil has forgiveness, goes up
That every man deserves mercy, the grace of Our Lady of Aparecida
The inmate pulling four in a row, alternating his sleep behind bars
While some sleep, others dream of freedom
The kid with his hand outstretched wanting a piece of hot dog
Content, happy with the remains of your soda, just a sip
The HIV positive guy in the ICU, in the hospital bed
Or the smileless disabled person, dreaming of his 5, 10, 25 coin
Any real, holding on to God's hand and going, says the song verse
Mansion, yacht, gold, dollar, are in vain
Black or white, rich or poor, only the coffin takes to the grave
180 per hour, passed like a racing car
Pack in the pocket, Honda Civic, loaded with cocaine
The profile of the good young man, Brazilian type who burns Indians with alcohol
The saint, the judge's son, the good example
Justice in Brazil is for the inmate in detention
Who destroys the pavilion with his hands
Sets fire, throws stones at the fucking cop
Then the prosecutor condemns
Glues Globo, SBT, Veja magazine wanting the news
Our blood is a headline for the businessman listening to life on the radio in his car
With his driver 111 in the bag, that's justice
Your kind sniffs, kills, melts the pipe
Pays the fee, bang and boom the lawyer is there to get you out
And the smiling cop, but if mine is on the hip, watch out
I'm a confessed murderer with no defense
Thirty in a row, they frame my gun, rummage through the drawer, it's over the
Wardrobe
Turn up the sound, the TV looking for a scoop
Several kicks in the mouth, disrespecting my wife, my daughter
Without a warrant a battalion of cops in my living room hitting with the butt of the gun
Scaring my family
I wasn't raised in Jardins or Morumbi
I don't stay in five-star hotels
I don't have a driver, a BMW, waiting for me
I was born for bank and armored car robbery
To be the link between the cocaine of the rich kids and the slum
The avenger who breathes death, the killer who splits your head in half for
Money
Or the kidnapper who burns you, tortures you, stabs you in the hideout
Who grabs your son by the neck as a hostage, demands a car, weapons
And spreads his brains, as if he were a dog
As if he were nobody
Only the book, the pen, the pencil and the notebook
Prevent Eduardo from heaven from becoming Eduardo from hell
Forget all this shit about police reports, good tapes, weapons are all illusions
Give a hug to your father, mother, your girl, that's real, it doesn't give blood
It doesn't give a coffin
Your work, your study stop the cop's gun
Informed poor, cocking the reasoning
It's tough any country trembles when the funeral car siren sounds
Among the flowers in the coffin
I want to see the dignified guy, not a marionette, who died at the hands of the Rota
Just another thief, here it says Faction, Faction

Playing with Marionettes, it's the system playing with marionettes

Playing with Marionettes, it's the system playing with marionettes

Hey man retire your caliber, get rid of the cocaine, disband the gang, our
Blood, the corpse under the newspaper, the kid smoking crack, that's what
The Brazilian body system wants, poor killing each other, poor exchanging shots
Among themselves, poor dying at the hands of the police, poor in the cemetery, your work and
Your study stop the cop's gun, informed man, dignified valuing himself is
Tough man, Brazil trembles, Eduardo
Dundum, Erick 12, Central Faction
1998, Playing with Marionettes