You’ve stepped in the red rug
That’s painted with my own blood
No sense of my offense
No cheat on your right cheek
Why don’t you shoot your gun against my son?
Hit me once and you spit me twice
Try your luck and then throw the dice
Try to touch and to fuck the sky
Bullets in the sun, still it’s not sci-fi
Why don’t you shoot your gun?
Why don’t you shoot your gun against my son?
Why I don’t feel the same
Feeding the pigs through my flesh wounds?
Why I don’t feel the same
Feeding myself with the blessed ones?
Why, cry I can’t?
Why, cry I can’t?
Un, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, seis, seis…
You’re served in the fresh mug
Behave like a real thug
No need for a new deed
More ways to make me bleed
Why don’t you shoot your gun?
Why don’t you shoot your gun against my son?
Day by day
Eye for eye
Blinded with faith
And dying like flies
Saying in vain
Pain regained
Word by word
The feed of herd
Lunch by lunch
The coming punch
A massacre
We all accept
I’ve cleaned my dish
I feel so rich
When kill regrets
Have never debts, now
Why I don’t feel the same
Feeding the pigs through my flesh wounds?
Why I don’t feel the same
Feeding myself with the blessed ones?
Why, cry I can’t?
Why, cry I can’t?
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