March
Thursday 17 December 2009 photo 1/1
|
To be buried in the mountains,
With my pack of wolves.
When I die,
Raise a cross of marijuana,
With ten bottles of wine,
And a hundred decks nailed.
At last it was my destiny,
Riding a bad path.
In my case cocaine,
My treasure shrapnel.
Todito enjoyment in life
Jewelry, women and gold
I was a drug dealer,
To be dragged through the mud.
On my tombstone stands,
A cross of marijuana.
I do not want tears or prayers,
Nor sacred ground.
To be buried in the mountains,
With my pack of wolves.
This cross of marijuana,
The watered fine liquors,
Seven days a week,
And I touch my tunes.
The band on my grave,
That sing my songs.
Write it in my memory,
Rubber poppy.
And with bullets say,
The fame of my pistols,
For cocks Sinaloa,
The earth is our glory.
On my tombstone stands,
A cross of marijuana.
I do not want tears or prayers,
Nor sacred ground.
To be buried in the mountains,
With my pack of wolves.
Annons
Visa toppen
Show footer