São Paulo, November 24
Twenty-one years later
For the first time in Brazil's history
The number of homicides surpassed 60,000 in one year
72% of these homicides are caused by firearms
54% of the country's total victims are young people between 15 and 29 years old
72% of the people murdered in Brazil are black or brown
This number means, as you may have heard before
For every four people killed by the police
Three are still black
This is Jorge Mário da Silva speaking
Another survivor

I survived until 2019, sir
Oh, glory, unbelievable
Oh, hallelujah

1998
My intention is bad, it empties the place
I'm on top, I'm ready, one, two to shoot
I'm much worse than you see
The black here has no mercy, 100% venom
The first goes boom, the second goes tah
I have a mission and I won't stop

My style is heavy and makes the ground tremble
My word is worth a shot, I have a lot of ammunition
In the fall or in the session, my attitude goes beyond
And I have the disposition for evil and for good
Maybe I'm a sadist or an angel, a magician
Judge or defendant, a bandit from heaven
Rogue or fool, bloodthirsty priest
Sniper if necessary
Revolutionary, insane or marginal
Old and modern
Border of heaven with hell
Unpredictable astral, like a heart attack in verse
Violently peaceful, truthful
I came to sabotage your reasoning
And to shake your nervous and circulatory system
For me, it's still little, crazy dog
Number one, one day a terrorist from the periphery
Eenie meenie miney mo, what do I have for you
A poisonous rap or a burst from a PT
And it happened as predicted
2019, after Christ, the black fury resurrects again
Racionais, chapter four, verse three

Sons of bitches
It's going to radiate
Call in the radiation
Strength, protection against cowardice and betrayal

Son of a bitch, bang, bang, bang
It's cold in São Paulo, for me it's always good
I'm on the street with a cap and sweatshirt
Ding ding dong, rap is the sound that emanates from the brown Opala
And then call Guilherme, call Fanho and call Dinho
And Gui, Marquinho, call Éder, let's go
If the other guys come in order, all the better
Who is who in billiards, in dominoes

Two guys showed up, one waved at me
In a satin jacket, sneakers, jeans
Hey Brown, get out, don't go, don't hang out
It's not worth giving attention to that type
Last night I saw them on the edge of the asphalt
Inhaling death, blowing life up high
Look at the guys, just skin and bones
At the bottom of the pit, a big flagrant in the pocket

Look, no one is more than anyone else
Look, look, and they are our brothers too
Sea of cocaine and crack, whiskey and cognac
The guys die quickly without a place of prominence

Yeah, but who am I to talk about who snorts or smokes, not even
I never gave you anything
You smoke what comes, clog your nose
Drink everything you see, make the devil happy
You will end up like that other guy
Who was a top black, no one was in it
Big style, Calvin Klein pants, Puma sneakers (hey)
A humble way of being at work and in the hangout
Enjoyed funk, played ball
Picked up his girl at the school gate
An example for us, big moral, big hype
But he started hanging out with the rich kids from the mall (then it was over)

Oh, another life, another pace
Only elite girls, party, several drinks
Boutique whore, all that shit, sex without limits
Sodom and Gomorrah
It's been about nine years
About fifteen days ago I saw the guy
You have to see him asking for cigarettes from the old men at the bus stop
Teeth all messed up, pocket without a dime

The guy smells bad, has heartburn, feels fear
Very high on who knows what early in the morning
Now he no longer poses a threat
Addicted, sick, fucked, harmless
One day a black cop came to hassle me
And told me to put myself in my place
I see a guy in these conditions (I can't)
Is this how I should be
Brother, the devil fucks everything around you
Through the radio, newspaper, magazine, and billboard
Offers you money, talks calmly
Contaminates your character, steals your soul
Yeah, then throws you in the shit alone
Turns a top black into a little black

My word relieves your pain, illuminates my soul
Praised be my Lord
Who doesn't let the guy here go astray
And doesn't pull the trigger on any scoundrel
But no son of a bitch ignores my law
Racionais, chapter 4, verse 3

Four minutes have passed and no one saw
The monster that was born somewhere in Brazil
Maybe the guy who works under the car, dirty with oil
Who frames the armored car feverishly with blood in his eyes
The guy who delivers envelopes all day in the sun
Or the one who sells chocolate from traffic light to traffic light
Maybe the guy who defends the poor in court
Or the one looking for a new life on parole
Someone in a wooden room
Reading by candlelight, listening to an old radio
At the back of a cell or
From the royal family of blacks like I am
A warrior prince who defends the goal

And I don't change, no, I don't delude myself
The guys with donkey asses, I know everything
In exchange for money and a good car
There are guys who dance and even wear lipstick
Several brothers talk shit for everyone to laugh
Haha, to see the white guys applaud
In your area, there's someone even worse
Each one, each one, you feel alone
There's a guy who points a gun at you and talks seriously
Blows your face off for an old tape deck
Click, pow, pow, pow, and it's over without pity or pain
Fuck your color, clean the blood with the shirt
And tell you to fuck off, you know why, where to go, for what
Goes from bar to bar, from corner to corner, gets fifty bucks
Trades it for cocaine, finally, the movie is over for you
Ah, the bullet is not a blank, here there is no stunt double
For the guys from Baixada Fluminense to Ceilândia (I know)
The streets are not like Disneyland

From Guaianases to the extreme south of Santo Amaro
Being a top black costs a lot
It's tough, tough to watch the commercial and see
You can't have that for yourself
Spoiled rich kid with an earring, a fool
Robbed inside the car on Avenida Rebouças
The girls' chains, the ladies' purses, money
I didn't have a father, I'm not an heir
If I were that guy who humiliates himself at the traffic light
For less than a real, my chance was slim
But if I were that kid with a cap
Who cocks and sticks the barrel in your mouth
Sneakily, without clothes, you and your girl
One, two, didn't even see me, I already disappeared in the fog
But no, I remain alive, continue the mystique
Four point nine, defying the statistics
Your TV commercial doesn't fool me
I don't need status or fame
Your car and your money no longer seduce me
Nor your blue-eyed whore

I am just a Latin American boy
Supported by more than fifty thousand brothers
Collateral effect that your system made
Racionais, Chapter 4, Verse 3

Sons of bitches

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