More songs by Hard GZ
Description
Vocals, Producer: Pedro Ruibal
Sound Engineer, Producer: Fernando Sánchez Hernández
Sound Engineer: Ramon Ramirez
Author: Pedro Ruibal
Composer: Fernando Sánchez Hernández
Lyrics and translation
Original
Soy el patrón de la costa, no me tose ni Dios.
No me sacas ni a hostias si no pudieron los vicios. Otra cosa estoy ahora porque todo son ciclos.
Lo tengo to pagao, solo me faltan los hijos. Hijos de puta, me las chupa ya quedarme sin voz.
Ceno zamburiñas ahora y antes platos de arroz.
Niña, lo tenía claro cuando era menor. Vengo a recoger lo que ese niño sembró.
Será mejor, como mucho enchulería al profesor. Ascendiendo posiciones hasta ser director.
Solo de tus menciones, no como el productor. Así que a repartir te pones o grabas un beatbox.
Doitos bicos, na ría que nos cría el perico.
Nadie quiere llevar fías, todos sueñan ser ricos. No confían en policías, son manías de adictos.
Entre mariñeiros se odian y se roban marisco. Pasean por el muelle, van calzando unas muelles.
Esperan que la patrullera, si sale, se estrelle. No hay bandas, no hay protagonistas de serie.
De serie ni las llantas y en la farmacia lo venden.
Son veinte de Rivotril para un yonqui de enfrente. Al centro médico de Cangas lo sabía la gente.
Callan porque en su hijo nadie ve un delincuente.
El domingo en la misa se limpian los creyentes. Albaneses en el puerto de Vigo facendo amigos.
Tienen a estibadores ahí moviendo los hilos. Llegan los kilos por la costa pa casa de los vecinos.
Y nos llega de Colombia por narcosubmarinos.
Secreto a voces, abellas son más chungas que en Cloakers. Caen colegas pa lama, nadie vive en un bloque.
Al primer toque ya estás full, dentro de esto y bien fucked.
Civiles con ariete, son terapias de choque. Tú pasa por la casa, papá, tírame al timbre.
To lo que consiguen currando lo funden los findes. Muchos se quitan y otros que no se rinden.
Aquí los sueños caducan antes de que los firmes. Cachabas portuguesas y cestas de mimbre.
Niños en las fiestas follan más que en el Tinder.
En la puesta de sol estoy fumándome un Kinder. Non lle toques a abella o marco do linde.
Aldeas fantasma, tierras olvidadas. Si no eres de aquí, no te miran ni a la cara.
Hay mil cosas que viví, pero si yo te contara, estaría en la ría con piedras o enterrao con la pala, damn.
English translation
I am the boss of the coast, not even God coughs on me.
You can't even blame me if the vices couldn't. I am different now because everything is cycles.
I have it all paid, I only need the children. Sons of bitches, he sucks me off and I'm left without a voice.
I have zamburiñas for dinner now and rice dishes before.
Girl, it was clear to me when I was younger. I come to collect what that child sowed.
It would be better, at most, to flatter the teacher. Rising through the ranks to become a director.
Only from your mentions, not as the producer. So to distribute you put on or record a beatbox.
Bicos doitos, a river that the parakeet raises for us.
Nobody wants to wear fias, everyone dreams of being rich. They don't trust police, they are addicts' manias.
Mariñeiros hate each other and steal seafood from each other. They walk along the pier, they are wearing some springs.
They hope that the patrol car, if it leaves, will crash. There are no bands, there are no series protagonists.
Not even the wheels as standard and they sell it at the pharmacy.
That's twenty Rivotril for a junkie across the street. People knew about the Cangas medical center.
They remain silent because no one sees a criminal in their son.
On Sunday at mass believers cleanse themselves. Albanians in the port of Vigo making friends.
They have dockworkers there pulling the strings. The kilos arrive along the coast to the neighbors' houses.
And it comes to us from Colombia by narco-submarines.
Open secret, Abellas are more dodgy than in Cloakers. Pa lama colleagues fall, no one lives in a block.
At the first touch you are already full, inside this and well fucked.
Civilians with battering ram, they are shock therapies. You come by the house, dad, ring the doorbell for me.
Everything they get by working is melted on the weekends. Many give up and others who don't give up.
Here dreams expire before you sign them. Portuguese cachabas and wicker baskets.
Boys at parties fuck more than on Tinder.
At sunset I'm smoking a Kinder. Do not touch Abella or the boundary frame.
Ghost villages, forgotten lands. If you're not from here, they don't even look at your face.
There are a thousand things that I experienced, but if I told you, I would be in the estuary with stones or buried with the shovel, damn.