Hecho Mierda

Under this poncho I wear the bandage,
under the wound I carry my life,
under my life I carry yours,
it's Argentina that howls at us,
screaming handcuffed from the patrol.

F***ed up feeling of these days,
where the cowboy bleeds out with words without family,
instead I'm good, I neck against the blind calf,
that clouds the sky of our harmony, turning your club into milk,
turning milk into Correntina blood,
dodging kicks from ground dragons,
I insert the grill in the serum.

I'm f***ed up but I'm happy,
I'm f***ed up, I'm f***ed up,
but I'm happy, armageddon my mind to the highest bidder,
doctor take out the bullet put wings on me,
let nothing kill my soul.

Guarani Antonio Franco from Misiones,
my team of guardians and my passions.
Eight new tactics coming from the north of the country,
alongside a warrior from the littoral training in the jungle,
in the rocky terrain, in the valley to then gain knowledge,
and be agile in the street.

Sell me skinny sell me, club restaurant