Sangre, Sudor y Furia

Blood flows through the volcano of hatred
Sweat drops mark this second episode
Beasts hide
Shadows without hardships
Awakened the dragon bringing forth the fury

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

Many hate me
Because my asshole face scares
Or heats you up crazy that I throw the fair in your face
I'm not Luis Miguel a romantic
To sing love songs
Just to be cocky in some lyrics
I play it like Smoler, the winner
Never good at making amends
But mommy, good at making poses in your bed
Daddy, don't even ask me to
Compete to record this compact disc
And now I make you a cape
I don't lose my tricks
But my eyes on a good cleavage
Doll
You lack a thousand, you coward
It's true that I'm a lazy
But fighting, I'm like Aragón
I have the blood of a warrior
The sweat in boxing
And the fury of an Argentine even in my balls
So bitches with their cosmos
Don't remove my dandruff
Or scare me like Casper
Because they all know the touch
Monster, you're close to being
A master
So keep looking for my
Tongue
While I look for them to hate me so I don't
Give in
I steal the bag, yes
I'm not a dealer, no
Handing out dollars in Dallas
Blood, sweat, and fury
Premiere, mommy
In the best theaters

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

I'm a lazy and alive
And a bitchy sound of hip hop
Ranking in the ranking
Ranking roots
Rocks fela
Your bad faith doesn't stop me
Skinny guys out of the spotlight
I pretend to be frank
Boastful of funk
You lack funk for kung fu
Remember when you hung the padlock
Of punk
You're done, want more
I'm going to give you the beat
Neither good nor bad, nor blah blah blah
Nor class, there's no clan, here
I'm 10 Swick pack beers
What are you going to cut, coward
If I cause phobia for some
After selling
100 thousand copies
You copy me
Service reserved in tobas
If I eat this
From here to Stockholm
Mommy, what's the damn limit
Calm down, 1 to 1 you'll fall
Look, I'm the guy who smokes less
Of this rap phenomenon
But with ethics
Because my account will be Machiavellian

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

Let them come
Those who pointed with their finger
Let them come
We are 4 in this game
Let them come
Those who spoke have already left
Let them come
Sons of bitches come

Blood, no
Sweat, yes
Fury

Blood, no
Sweat, yes
Fury

Blood, no
Sweat, yes
Fury

Well
They rise in scale
Interleaved shaved heads
I've spent hot nights
With crazy women
Hang out with the bad one
Praise the bad influences
And sciences patience doesn't suit you
Hit the target
Don't dull the opaque
I swing from side to side crazy
The coconut is small
Little by little I anticipated
I wanted to be the puppet, I'm the craftsman
Who points at you with the index on
The border I have the sign of faith
Police paper
Penelope
Control yourself put on the pepe
Go out to buy the LP
Blood, sweat, and fury ok
The effect of this was running
That one day you scold me
Girls, who know me
At night by a clan
Pull these thoughts that exist
It's raw flesh persists
The man of steel
Is tall, bald, and ugly, you insist
Feel, don't be impatient
Soon in the west
I'll be knocking your teeth out
Unforgivable
Moron City, 1998