Manifesto #1 - A Rua Cercada Por Divisão (part. Real Fubá e MC Poze do Rodo)

(Hey, Elow)
(It's Alwin)
So, oh

The street surrounded by a division
The boy makes a gang sign
Red hair, because we're killing each other
While those sons of bitches are sleeping in a mansion

A boy with a rifle is a social critique
Why don't you give them an education instead of killing them?
Yesterday on the hill, yet another mother in mourning
And those sons of bitches are laughing in our faces
If you put it down on paper
The pen kills more than the rifle
That's why I carry hatred in my words
And one day they'll have to listen to me

(Hey, Fubá?) uh, uh
If I say I like the police, I'm lying
A victim of this state war, the fucked up thing is that it only bleeds on my side
There at eight, I didn't know, toasted, several weapons, a bit of a free fire game
Wearing a backwards baseball cap, a guy smoking a joint
Thinking about the brother I lost over time
But these are temporary things, the pain will go away with time
You know the boy has talent

A boy who never had anything, pissed off on the corner
Smoking from the intense longing for my children
There are some private ones, but that's life
Diary of a boy, account of a child
What if I say I'm pissed off on the corner?
What if I told you that crime was my way out?
What if I told you that I learned it in the school of life?
That in the midst of no one, a child is not belittled

During my shifts with the crew, I always get the vibe
Through the jungle, I'm always speeding in my spaceship
This girl called me today, she wants to see me later
Requesting a throwback to what happened at the party
Sitting on top, you're on trend
Playing for the kids in the Black Lança style
Jungle rhythm and your booty shakes
It wants to sprout at the base, but, being so young, it doesn't explain itself
In the end, she says she loves me

A boy with a rifle is a social critique
Why don't you give them an education instead of killing them?
Yesterday on the hill, yet another mother in mourning
And those sons of bitches are laughing in our faces
If you put it down on paper
The pen kills more than the rifle
That's why I carry hatred in my words
And one day they'll have to listen to me

The bitter weight of losing a fight
A mother's cry is heard by the whole favela
There's one color missing from Brazil's colors
Red, which was the color of the resident's blood
The state was just doing its job
Killing an innocent person in Santo Amaro
Then you'll say the problem is me
But the weapons that are here were sold by you

He says I'm too young and I've already passed article 12
He talks about my pose as if I hadn't made any mistakes
It's because they celebrate when the favela cries, I
I will only accept my victory when the poor stop dying
It's because they celebrate when the favela cries, I
I will only accept my victory when the poor stop suffering

A boy with a rifle is a social critique
Why don't you give them an education instead of killing them?
Yesterday on the hill, yet another mother in mourning
And those sons of bitches are laughing in our faces
If you put it down on paper
The pen kills more than the rifle
That's why I carry hatred in my words
And one day they'll have to listen to me