CEMENTERIO (feat. Homer El Mero Mero y DT.Bilardo)

(Uh, listen to that beat)
Haha
This ain't music, it's dope, huh?
The real deal
For (Bilardo is on the beat, oh)

They know I'm from the hood and I ain't fake
That we have our own way of talking
That we've been fighting since we were kids
And we were never posh

Here in my area, I have my respect
Without anyone backing me up
We walk humbly through the ghetto
Avoiding getting screwed over

And if one day I die
Don't cry at the cemetery
Go to the back of the hood
And hang out with the real gangsters

And if one day I die
Don't cry at the cemetery
Go to the back of the hood
And hang out with the real gangsters
(L-Gante Keloke)

Until the day I die, we'll be walking around the area
I'm a black guy with money like Maradona
When we show up, the fakes get uncomfortable
I don't sell out with the cops, we leave them on the ground

You know, Mero, that many are hurt by us being thugs
And they'll want to take us down, that's for sure
I'm always doing my thing, rolling in the dark
And those who talk trash, I don't know any of them

Here we're out of control, high as a kite
The crew on the side, and I'm really messed up
I'm having a drink that blows my mind
I'm in the car and the boys on the bike

In the back, we're partying again
The bandits always go with the flow
This is the life we chose
Better get out of the way

And here you always hear the noises
We send the rats to their nest
If they're shady, I don't invite them
If I die, I'll keep going in hell

And if one day I die
Don't cry at the cemetery
Go to the back of the hood
And hang out with the real gangsters

And if one day I die
Don't cry at the cemetery
Go to the back of the hood
And hang out with the real gangsters

Since I was a kid, I've liked the corners
The vices, the tips, the pure merchandise
I'm that gangster who then rebels against you
When I show up, they shout: Mero, give me some energy

From the best exports of Argentina
To sound in the world, in those secret streets
In prison, the alley or the cooking spot
Because my lyrics are dope, the kind that doesn't hurt

I'm one of the few who thinks the top is at the bottom
And so I work, not looking up
Because humans live in their own failure
Taking each step and seeing that there's no hope in their life

Smoking a joint while watching Fernando
With my brother by my side, I'm used to that shit
Maybe now I don't think about the past
I feel like I've won, blessed in sacred moments

Fuck the police, I call the shots
Two grand for the 22, Tambo Tambo playing
With three dots on my face to hide the stash
Drinking strong liquor with a buddy in the cemetery

No imitation, no comparison
Yeh, yeah
L-Gante Keloke
The Real Deal, huh
This ain't music
Cumbia 420 for the black folks
Bitch, huh-ah
DT Bilardo (Al Records)
Maxi The Brother, huh, the mafia, eh
The thugs with the thugs
So they can enjoy it in the ghetto
In case I die
Buddy, huh