| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), these people fear me
|
| I’ve seen murder, disease, it’s all near me
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), I know you hear me
|
| I wrote it fucked up, you see it clearly
|
| Enter the cult of the death’s gods, traffickers and ex-cons
|
| Skull and robe, hold the globe in outstretched palm
|
| A revered image of truth, here with the youth
|
| Vivid living proof spitting like El Chapo in the booth
|
| Death is the beginning, so without fear we run towards the willing
|
| Manufacturing murder anthems and songs of killing
|
| Ballads of massacre, the psalms of the forbidden
|
| Cash is the master of every broken law that is written
|
| Burning up the abomination conjuring hatred
|
| Virgin of the incarcerated martyrs of Satan
|
| Persecuted like the Inquisition in Spain
|
| Condemned, made to repent my religion of pain
|
| Set on fire like in Salem where the witches were slain
|
| Behind bars till I die for these bricks of cocaine
|
| No regrets though I pray to my saints often
|
| Holy Death, lying awake in a coffin
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), these people fear me
|
| I’ve seen murder, disease, it’s all near me
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), I know you hear me
|
| I wrote it fucked up, you see it clearly
|
| They say the world don’t spin without the hand of God
|
| While them damn priest trying to get a kid to give a handjob
|
| I guess that really means I am odd
|
| Cause I don’t let my kids get on their knees to pray for damn slobs
|
| And I ain’t talking about Jesus see
|
| I’m just speaking on the cardinals, the BC
|
| This is the crazy shit that we see
|
| That’s why I’m grateful that the streets are the only ones that teach me
|
| Yo, and on that note, they giving pedophiles months
|
| While they give the homies life for dope
|
| What kind of shit is that? |
| That shit ain’t right though
|
| If a grown man wanna buy the right blow
|
| We’re like Vegas in a sense, you know it’s false hope
|
| Instead of slot machines and card games it’s all coke
|
| They making hustlers like us walk a tightrope
|
| While every other fucking snake is alright though
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), these people fear me
|
| I’ve seen murder, disease, it’s all near me
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), I know you hear me
|
| I wrote it fucked up, you see it clearly
|
| New York is inhabited, there’s smoke in Los Angeles
|
| Long arm of the law is broken with bandages
|
| They call me Slaine, the La Coka evangelist
|
| Our spoken languages provoking the scandalous
|
| You dummies are dead, dummy, there’s a gun to your head
|
| There’s no loyalty left, just money instead
|
| My blood speaks the truth that none of you said
|
| You should be fighting the power, you’re running instead
|
| Where’s your heart at? |
| Your bones weak
|
| You talk loud all the time, when I’m here you don’t speak
|
| When the heat’s on in front of you the pressure is real
|
| You’re a bunch of fucking sheep to a messenger’s hill
|
| I should have chapters in the Bible cause my testament’s real
|
| I’m a product of violence and mescaline pills
|
| Was you born to be a faggot cause it seems like it
|
| Your life ain’t nothing like mine, you just dream like it
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), these people fear me
|
| I’ve seen murder, disease, it’s all near me
|
| This is all there is, now there ain’t shit left
|
| It’s like I’m looking in the eyes of the saint of death
|
| (La Santa Muerte), I know you hear me
|
| I wrote it fucked up, you see it clearly |