Fumata Del Ladrillo

Smoke from a quart under a brick
By the side of the children
Making a hiding place under a jug
With the pasti that the Quisco brought
Everyone in Valenciana glued to the window
And we stopped at the Gabriel sale
And the pig standing there
Sitting on the steps
With button down shirt
Destroying the songs
Learning the lesson
That before singing you couldn't smoke
And with a wooden guitar the group was not so bad
But for me it was worse than stepping on a pine tree in an elevator

Damn, I'm getting tired
Oops! That was from smoking the olives

But the girl looks at the firecracker
Then he looks at me
But the girl looks at the firecracker
Then he looks at me

I was getting suspicious about how we were playing
But deep down I was laughing
Thinking that day of joy would come
In which I would laugh and that day has already arrived
And here I am laughing my head off writing this song
That is part of my corner

And lately among so many people I feel like a criminal
Come early, don't put your hand in, I feel like Mr. Worm
Brick smoke, every master has his own book
But my book has nothing (it has nothing, it has nothing)
There is no paper that Rafael took
And now what am I going to do, this is not going to sell
And now what am I going to do, and if I don't have lesbians?
That day has already arrived and here I am, laughing my head off
Writing this song
That is part of our pile

We would like to eat at McDonald's
But we lack pasta in our underpants

But the girl looks at the firecracker
Then he looks at me
But the girl looks at the firecracker
Then he looks at me