A half-macabre smile
Long rifles, thick bundles
Filling the hole of the sad emptiness
Since my little brother has left
I don't complain about this f*cking life
There's bad times, there's times up
Everything depends on my aunt, the white
Sometimes she stays, sometimes she leaves
The black Sierra with golden rims
Over in Las Vegas they see him cruising
In the bets the casino fears me
I take thousands off it when I get carried away
Order bottles, order them washed
Preferably pretty girls
That the one with the bundles is still real firm
And a big shout-out for El Calibre
That the plant keeps on giving
I never go around sad, I'm always crazy
Since I was little I jumped on the bull
We're real rascals, I bet my luck
Ramón, my homie, let that R roar
You should never fear death
You gotta live thinking in the present
I pop cans with my pals
Two or three days or a week
His father is still in Tijuana
From whom he inherited the balls he carries
My mind always one step ahead
Well prepared against the low-lifes
A half-macabre smile
Long rifles, thick bundles
Filling the hole of the sad emptiness
Since my little brother has left
It goes clear to heaven, of course