Respostas
Resposta:
Verse 1 - Edi Rock]
Drama nigga
Between the success and the mud
Money, problems, envy, luxury, fame
Drama nigga
Curly hair, and the dark skin
The wound, the sore
Searching for the cure
Drama nigga
Trying to see, but don’t see anything
Besides a star, far, a little overshadowed
The drama, the price, the charge
In the love, in the hate, the insane revenge
Drama nigga
I know who’s plotting and who’s with me
The trauma I carry to not be one more fucked up black
The prison and favela drama
Tomb, blood, sirens, cries and candles
Passenger of São Paulo, agony
Survive between honor and cowardice
Periphery, allies, slum tenements
You must be thinking what you have to do with this
Since the begging, for gold and silver
Look who’s dying and then see, it’s you who‘s killing
Receives the merit the military uniform that does the bad
Seeing me poor, locked up or dead it’s already cultural
Histories, registers and written
It’s not a tale nor story, legend or myth
It wasn’t always said that black don’t have a chance
Then look at the castle, bro
It wasn’t you who made it, asshole
I’m the brother of my battle companions
I was the meat, now I’m the razor itself
Cheers, a toast for me
I’m an example of victories, routes and glories
The money can take a man out of misery but can’t strip off out of him the favela
Just a few enter the field to win
The soul keeps what the mind tries to forget
I look behind and see the path I ground, much time
Who was by the side and who just stayed in the boot
Between quotes, phases and a lot of steps
Who’s who, of the weak man and woman
Drama nigga with style
To be, if it be, it has to be, if it’s afraid it’s corn
Between the trigger and the storm
Always proving I’m a man and not a coward
God guard me because I know He’s not neutral
Watches out the rich but love the ones that came from the ghetto
I wear black inside and out
Warrior, poet between time and memory
In this story I see dollar and lots of carats
I tell the bro, don’t die and don’t kill too
The tic-tac doesn’t wait, look at the hand
This road is poisonous and full of mortars
Nightmare?
Huh, it’s a praise
For those who live in war, peace never existed
In the high temperature, my people sweat cold
I saw a little black, his notebook were a rifle
[Verse 2 - Mano Brown]
Could be a movie
A black woman with a child in the arms
Solitaire in the forest of concrete and steel
Look, see, another time, a face in the crowd
The crowd is a monster without face or heart
Hey, São Paulo, land of sky-scratchers
The drizzle rips the meat
It’s the Babel tower
Brazilian family: two against the world
Single mother of a promising vagabond
Light, camera, action, recording, the scene goes
A bastard, one more brown son, without father
Hey, lord of the mills, I know well who you are
Alone you can’t handle it, alone, can’t handle, by foot
You said you were good and the favela heard
There is whisky, Red Bull, Nike sneaker and rifle
I admit it, your cars are pretty
Yeah, and I don’t know how to do
Internet, cassette tapes, some crazy cars
Late I am a little, yes, I am, I think
But, the thing is
You game is dirty and I don’t fit in it
I’m a big problem, from carnaval to carnaval
I’m from the jungle, I’m a lion
I’m too much for your yard
Problems with school I have a thousand, thousand tapes
Unbelievable but your son imitates me
In the middle of you people he’s the smartest
Waddle and say slangs; not slang, dialect
This is not yours anymore, went up
Entered through your radio, took it and you didn’t see it
“We are this, we are that”, what? Wasn’t you saying?
Your son wants to be black, HAH, the irony
Stick the 2Pac’s poster, hey, so, what do you say?
Feel the drama nigga, go, try to be happy
Hey, my man, who made you that good?
What have you given, what you do, what have you done for me?
I received your ticket, I mean, the kit
From open air sewers to madeirit walls
Of embarrassment I didn’t die, I’m strong, here I am
You, no, you won’t pass when the Red Sea opens
I’m human, hard man, from ghetto, Brown
That crazy one that can’t make a mistake
The one you hate more in this moment
Brown skin and listen to funk
I’m from where the diamonds come: the mud
Thanks, mother, drama nigga