Baby Rasta: ¿Porque la vida es así?
No puedo entender, no
La vida es cruel
Como puñeta poderla entender
Siempre es una jodia lucha el mal contra el bien
Cantazos tras cantazos y aun sigo de pie
Que dios quiere conmigo que el diablo no deja hacer
Aquí las cosas abajo andan mal
Mientras por mi se pelean Yo quiero cantar
A mi familia mantener y no perder mi hogar
Darle lo mejor Yanisa Nichote y a mi pequeño Will Frank
Total si el precio es matar para sobrevivir me ganare la soledad
Pelear, cargar, chambear el gatillo jalar
Y disparar hasta que el chambe se quede atrás
Uno sabe la verdad
Son gusanos disfrazados de hermanos
Que les he dado la mano
También ayudado a luchar
Pa poderlo pegar
Ahora me quieren pagar queriéndome sobrepasar
A como de lugar poniéndose a inventar
Cosas de mi vida que no son verdad
Este cabron la envidia la vida le va a costar
Yo daría la mía por poderlo pillar
Yo soy de las personas que no se deja llevar
Porque si lo hago como ellos voy a terminar
He pasado noches sin poder dormir
Para un disco construir
Y darles a ustedes lo mejor de mí
Sobrepasando en ventas las cien mil...
Y a la hora de cuadrar
El dinero los hace cambiar
Y reportan cuarenta mil
Maldito infeliz
¿Por que robarme a mi?
Si lo mejor de mi les doy
Su ambición los va a destruir
Como destruyó a The Noise
Un imperio de cantantes del momento
Y ahora solo quedan los malditos recuerdos
Y Baby Rasta y Gringo que se mantienen al margen
Muchos quieren cazarme
Para pararme
No hablemos de matarte
Que voy hacer que el miedo lo sientas cuando me hables shh-shh pawn!
Ahora saquen sus canciones
Y hablen mierda con cojones
Mencionen mi nombre
Y las cosas se pondrán peores
A mí sin cojones
He cogido golpes y traiciones
He esquivado balas corriendo entre los callejones
Así fue mi infancia
Y no soy un gangsta
No jodas conmigo o te meto con la corta
Soy el chamaquito el que canta
Y fumeteaba en los bleachers de la cancha
Con todos sus panas
¿De que se hablaba?
Gringo: de la matanza que no paraba
En mi barriada
Baby Rasta: y como los akas sonaban
Yo me asomaba por la ventana
Y veía como a los muertos le daban y le daban
Mejor convence a tus matones de que me tiren
Los míos te pisan los talones y no se deja ver
No lo vas a ver lo vas a sentir
Los tejidos de tu piel expandir
Que los tuyos no podrán ni cubrir
Así que vela y repasa lo que te escriben
Porque por encima de Baby Rasta nadie vive
Por el frío de la altura
Y si duras, y te quedan dudas
Todavía ando con la 40 en la cintura...
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Can some1 plz translate this song by Baby Rasta? Lyrics Posted.
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Baby Rasta
Why is life this way?
I can't understand it.
Lfe is so cruel.
How the hell can I understand it?
It's always a battle between evil and good.
I get hit after hit, but I keep on standing.
God help me to keep the Devil down.
Things down here are bad.
While they fight for me, I want to sing,
raise my family and not lose my house,
I want to give the best to Yanisa Nichote and my little Will Frank.
If the price to survive is killing, I will have a life of loneliness [meaning he will became a criminal].
I will fight, cheat, sell drugs, use guns,
and shoot until all is done.
I know the truth:
they are worms that disguise themselves as brothers.
I've welcomed them,
I've fought at their side, too.
Now they want to repay me by leaving me behind
or inventing false things
about my life.
This ****er [I don't who is he talking about] is so envious that he is going to lose his life.
I would give mine [my life] to get him.
I don't get fooled,
because if I do [get fooled], I will end like them.
I've gone through nights without sleep
working in my CD
to give all of you my best work
and I've sold more than 100,000 copies..
But when it's the time of paying me,
the money makes them change,
and they say I only sold 40,000.
Poor unlucky guy.
Why do they steal from me?
I give them my best work.
Their ambition will destroy them
as it destroyed The Noise [The Noise was a group].
It was an empire of succesful singers,
but now only remain memories of them
and Baby Rasta and Gringo because they keep away from it.
A lot of people want to catch me
to stop me.
Perhaps even to kill me.
But I'm gonna make you feel fear every time you talk to me -you pawn!
Now go make songs.
Talk **** as if you had balls.
Talk about me.
And then things will get ugly.
I don't like people that bullshit me
I've been hit, I've been betrayed
I've dodged bullets in alleys.
This was my childhood.
And I'm not a gangsta.
Don't **** with me or I'll hit you.
I'm the little guy that sings
the one that smoked in the bleachers by the court
with his friends.
And what did we talked about?
Gringo:
About all the non-stop killings
in my neighborhood
Baby Rasta:
And about the sound of all the AK's.
I used to look through my window
and I saw how people got killed one after the other.
So you should persuade your thugs of shooting me.
Because my thugs are already after you and you can't see them.
You won't see it, you will just feel
how all your tissues expand so much
that your people won't be able to cover you [his corpse].
So be careful and review what's written,
because no one can live above Baby Rasta:
it's too cold up there.
And if you are still alive and you still doubt
[then know that] I keep my gun in my waist.