Casas Bajas

Kids no longer greet with a hello
They greet with one hand in their underwear and the other squeezing the fine trigger of a gun
Pulled from a pocket with no candies, just upside-down crosses
And gun papers from maybe who, man?
This is nothing like what you see on TV
This is three times more real and brutal than a banal best seller
Than chains, hotels, babes, and fur coats, what else do you want?
If an antenna burns, who do you call? They're barely 10 years old
You keep claiming they open the faucet on the corner
If there's no water for a fire, complain to Aguas Andinas
Because this is a summer pool, even if the neighbor thinks it's harm
Harm is putting a price on the right to be educated
Have I hit you? Well, let's go harder
Spit on the Vatican and let Patty Maldonado suck for free
Because a poorly donated gift God made by leaving her on these sides
A Spokesman is a spokesman because the cake has been poorly cut

Housing project, low houses
Between bombs and knives
Housing project, low houses
Between drums and boxes
Housing project, low houses
Between bombs, triggers, and knives
Housing project, low houses
Between drums, between boxes
Housing project, low houses
Between bombs, triggers, and knives

Why doesn't a girl suck and enjoy for a buck?
From a dealer who recruits souls, soul disputes
But she's no more prostitute than your Jet Set rap, bitch
While blind justice accuses who hits a sack of shit
Usurping a millennia-old land at war
Mapo in jail and Quenita for Maguita still in the spotlight
Reality surpasses fiction, surpasses fictitious verses (faggot)
My themes portray your sorrows, in verses sentences are premiered
In low houses hard work, no relaxation and not even enough for dinner
Enough is enough, beautiful, in desperation
In the square the constitution as a symbol of poverty a guy burns like a bonfire
It's your fifth cell phone and for the bustling you were made by the thief
All to fill the belly, you filed the lawsuit and the family quickly pays the bail
The saints pray panic prayers, a satanic
Kills a fanatic Christian and the synical cuatics remain static
The world has its risk quotas, there's credit even for that
Have you paid your guilt? Some attempt and pay in a cell the game and its price

Housing project, low houses
Between drums, between boxes
Housing project, low houses
Between bombs, triggers, and knives

Savage Decibel is born from the honest class with phrases
Unravels rappers who have links based on pure disguises, I know
What you're trying, but my rap has no borders
Like the common people I carry as a motto, if they are the government and this fucking system
Without opportunity that leads that kid to forget his march
Falls into drugs, stays on the street, drunk, thrown, covered in frost
Frequently I remove that cowardly anguish from the front
So they bark in exchange for some bills, they're capable of selling their mother
Veridical lyrics, explicit music for the mind
With this ability to move a whole neighborhood with conscious rap
You seek comfort, politician, in the low houses
That's left for your fucking colleagues who in Congress jerk off
And travel abroad driven by the desire for money
They don't worry first about the demand the worker has pending
They are the ones who ignite thick decibel
We are even capable of blowing up any Mercedes Benz

Between paired houses, basic apartments, and shacks
Dreams of children arise and fade in this shantytown
From Oquinagua to Central America, it's always the same story
The surplus for the oppressor and the worker who sniffs glue
Social revolution is born in the discomfort of every home
I'm starting to get annoyed by so much wandering, it's time to start winning
And reclaiming spaces, reducing species
Belonging to a bad government that doesn't provide solutions for those who deserve justice
Chaos will be visceral and revolutionary in every act
A paraplegic system in flames doesn't escape the force of my contact bomb
If in every program there's no tact to denounce a corrupt politician
They think a blow to abrupt traffic shapes it as correct journalism, it's true
Delinquency is a problem, but official science doesn't stop the pain
Of those who cry and steal a bread, not for pleasure, but for sentence
I want to kill the fascists, resume the social project and leave the law in a coma
With alternative politics, leave your pseudo democracy in distress

Housing project, low houses
Between drums, between boxes