La olla - Bacilos

A estrellas y a reyes les gusta el perico

Y toda la culpa es de un colombiano rico

Nos tratan cual bestias en los aeropuertos

Como si no fueran nuestros tantos muertos

Las leyes son leyes p’al que las escribe

Por que ellos escogen bien lo que prohiben

Pero en callejones, palcos y balcones

La ley se hace humo, rayas y colores

A algunos les gusta temprano en la mañana

Y a otros les gusta gozarcela en la cama

Y otros nos toca nacer en la mitad

De la batalla

Nacimos en la o o o o oolla

A estrellas y a reyes les gusta el perico

Pero ellos son los heroes del mundo rico

Por eso en las aduanas me toca a mi pagar

Por su delito

A quien le gusta vivir, con esta paranoia me toca a mi

Mi parte de la historia porqué nací, nacimos en la olla

La máquina sonó, el tipo me miró

El perro de la aduana tiene cara de cabron

Y yo solo quiero que me dejen llegar a mi casa

Nacimos en la o o o o o oolla

A quien le gusta vivir con esta paranoia me toca a mi

Mi parte de la historia porque nací, nacimos en la olla…

Stars and piliticians enjoy cocaine

And of course its my people the one to blame

They treat us like animals in every airport

As if were not us putting the muertos

Some people like it early in the morning

Some other like it when the bass is pumping

And some of us are born

In the middle of the bombing

Stars and kings like parakeet

And it's all the fault of a rich Colombian

They treat us like beasts in airports

As if they were not our many dead

The laws are laws for the one who writes them

Because they choose well what they prohibit

But in alleys, boxes and balconies

The law becomes smoke, stripes and colors

Some like it early in the morning

And others like to enjoy it in bed

And others of us have to be born in the middle

of the battle

We were born in the o o o o oola

Stars and kings like parakeet

But they are the heroes of the rich world

That's why at customs it's my turn to pay

for his crime

Who likes to live, with this paranoia it's my turn

My part of the story why I was born, we were born in the pot

The machine rang, the guy looked at me

The customs dog has the face of a bastard

And I just want them to let me get home

We were born in the o o o o o oola

Who likes to live with this paranoia, it's my turn

My part of the story because I was born, we were born in the pot…

Stars and piliticians enjoy cocaine

And of course its my people the one to blame

They treat us like animals in every airport

As if we were not putting the dead

Some people like it early in the morning

Some other like it when the bass is pumping

And some of us are born

In the middle of the bombing