Paga Tus Pecados

Lyricists in the house 2010
Carlos on the beat from Texas
No way

Fatal family, it's almost like a fantasy
Does beer go with Fanta? No, just straight up and cold
For live for real for love for my break
My crew in action, what are you telling me?
What do you want? A Berlin look under the walls
You got bling-bling, I got style, I swear
Red eyes like a piure, sometimes I throw lies
Welcome to the madness, now that I’m cured
Marks of torture, dark circles on my face
I write out of necessity even when I don’t want to
I can’t stop, we’re falling, buddy
Lyricists in the house, representing hip hop explosion
Egron is the potion to lose my sense
My wallet, my phone, and my head, dude
In a corner of the room, I flagellate with the skinny ones
Hey girl, you’re losing it with that guy for a while
And why? Obviously, in this land, I pay for my sins
Every Saturday is a punishment, I don’t know what I’m doing
Just says "Go", without thinking of the consequences
On the edge of the abyss, it’s always been the essence
Violating my brain, neurons, memories run
I write with a pencil, my promises to be erased
What’s up, queen, I’m just picking flowers
I grind them, put them in a paper, feel the smell
Sinner, in your hands you hold the bad
Pain, there’s none, they come, walk calmly
Clear that immortality is behind the sun
We hope it stays hidden to continue it
The f***ing mission

The Mission, lyricists in the house
Dude, no, no, I, I
Chitopan, the drop, the hapen armeflex
Yeah, me

If I live with a hangover, my here is the alcohol that kills me
My liver tries to change the water
My bed can’t hold me, I can’t hold myself
I live at night and die during the day
We hate the sun, with this rum, injected into the blood
Late arrival, my stomach burns, praying for a transplant
Why keep going, with that bottle that expands
My giant pleasure, I know it doesn’t seem interesting
Take you to this bar, where my crew rests
Weeks on end, never making it home
And the sin, hey fish, to sell the catch
I love the pipe, under the fresh night pen
And so we go, without forgiveness and forgetting the guilt
Puma, deranged, smoking the art of sinning with the pen
Add it up, the beasts and leave them bouncing
Alcohol, drugs, two thousand two, you get the nickname
You get the nickname, lyricists in the building
Hey you, motherf***er, "madafaka" black
In the Texas studio, it’s lyricists, my dude
Panchito start, I, let it go

I smoke ice, problem
Oh shit

We’re spinning, to the rhythm of smoke breathing
Counting the crap of life, looking at the view from my room
A panoramic view, crazy, I share when the little motivation
And a sunstroke takes command
My crew, bandit, I give my blood
Not one sold out, less serious about the subject understood
Others get desperate, for the bitch umbrella
That saves with cash, with grandma, outside the fair
And they go for coke, try this beast
They eat their whole mind, and don’t say anything
And all fishing, this is light, pass the scissors
There’s no grinder, playing with the wood
Lacking a lighter
Hey sir, don’t look like that, I don’t step out of line
There’s no dialogue, a hard stare
And that’s it, punk, fist with fist, you shout, I shout
Flight paper, kick it and pass me that graphite.