Sangre de Barrio

Even if he tells me I'm worthless
Well, I don't give a shit, I'm still in the mess
Well, there's no one who can stop us
Grown on the streets

Those who are in the pint
Carnal greetings
821 we are the family from the lowest neighborhood of San Lucas
There is an exit, I know my life

Crazy, look!
I have brothers who give me the corner
We protect and support each other
Blues and greys, those are the cloths we represent

Always firm as a soldier
Bald, marijuana smoker and tattooed
Greetings from Haitians who have pleased me
And they are by my side

I'm still the same crazy person
Against hair if I die there is no problem
I stay on the line

Bald I follow you
Gang member screwed up
The boss doesn't like the life I lead at all

Well, come on, little boss, you know that I love you
But you already know that I was left bald
Name scratched on the chest
I carry firmness inside

Race of crazy criminal firecrackers
Bad thoughts cross my mind

I fear nothing but death
13 is my southern people
Forgive me, boss, for my crazy dreams
Cholero style
To hell with dreams

What's up, carnal, take out the channel?
These wounds must be healed
Smoking weed and drinking mezcal
I connect the hard to the mosque

I make the songs for my brothers
We have the square, we control the streets
We are united by the blood of the Clika
821 is the one above forever fucking

I am the chicken, you already know me
Green, white and red are my colors
I don't give a shit about Nuevo Leon

Mojarra sector raffling in Houston
Listen to the song come from the heart
The feeling for this nation

Pure crazy bald guy and thug
Fuck your mother why are you hiding from me?
Pure low side, pure calaco
I'll appease you, you fucking otako brat

Pure terror in the streets of Fren Guava
Control from the cherry tree
Grey handkerchief, dust on the nose
I'm happy, daughter, you are for me

Pure good roll, pure cream
Crazy letter that poisons you
I'm Mexican smashing stereos
Batting skulls, breaking bones
Always rapping, envy follows me

Shut your mouth, you want me to fuck you
Hanging out with my friend Mauro
We are macuarros, blood of the neighborhood

Pure Mexica, the thirteen, the gang, the clika
Smoking weed, pure rich motor

Chicloso and ambiom man in the flower
I borrowed a new lion
The whole marathon I lift the brown, Houston style
We give him machín, like the machín

Pure miscreant, whats a penin
I follow the guy causing terror like the ladino
I put my hands on the family
Snow moves throughout the plebs

I get a little light, I never stop
Crazy forever, failing to remember January December
Twenty-four seven, fall if you want
Here there is cholada, ice-cold caguama

Broken in a flash and even you throw it away the rap is done
Here in the revolutionary mountains Zapata and Villa I pray to you daily
And to the Aztecs with my calendar that they don't know
We are neighborhood cholos

The dome, the jairola, the coni, the fat one, the lemon green pure poison in my brain
I'm leaving with this good song in English and Spanish

I follow him like crazy, painting the beer, take it easy
The boss says at nine on Thursdays
This is when the chaos begins on the streets of Loco de Jales
Looking for a chance, today is not a day to be spent

Several brothers are not present just because they are on the hook
The guys made a mess, because they didn't get away with it
Just a bro, the guy is on the run
And they will never find it if they are going to peel it

Simon, I'm still crazy, I'm still crazy, because there's no other choice
In this evil neighborhood, a marginalized guy
And well respected by the whole bunch of new soldiers
That are emerging and representing the 821 family of jale

And you know, as the shark says
No flag, those are my people
Always present like those childhood memories with these brothers
And adolescence caught up in the hustle and bustle

The first rucas and all that nonsense that is never forgotten
That's my life, a crazy guy who lives in the ash trees
And it's from the US, I never wanted to fight people
But those assholes were getting fatter

And the fish and the hunt, mixed styles
Always very firm and holding on tight
It is an example of insane people, of criminals
He already wakes us up in my neighborhood, you know, asshole

I already say goodbye like a corrido
Always rapping about the truths of the most seasoned guys, or about goat
Hey buddies, this is for the Nosfre race
I don't know if the crazy plots

How can we not remember those old men with the bargain?
But look at how much godmother feels, it changes her
I continue through the streets, I have nothing but fucking failures
But nobody attacks me because I come with the best bargain

From north to south that sound, forging that touch
Pure fucking crazy people, raising the thirteen
Always with everything, but trout with the chiles that they want to push us down
They don't give a damn, you fucking cams know that I represent 821 moreno from the Ghetto

My thorny heart doesn't cut it, here I am, facing forward
In the game I take a risk, damn I shoot, I walk everywhere Mexican
Pure cloth faucet raising my status new bastard lion
This is my style of the acronym dojos

Purely up, throwing corners in my neighborhood
You know that US 821 is the one that raffles
I have feelings, but I don't have the memories
Fuck you, you fucking dog, I'll stay with the clique in the timid one

Pure scum, horror gang member representing the low side, I am calm
But armed, take a drink, that damn drink, amen to that
Come on dude, pure brown ride
Pure 13
Simon, pure, US fucking

Here from the mere ash trees, children of their fucking mother
There are those who want to stop us