60 Phrases from Ajax and Prok – Short and REFLECT

The shit from the past always comes out, if you stay silent it’s normal for you to explode.

I will be pure until I walk down the avenue of the sad.

Ads for expensive cars for unemployed people.

Raise your fist mate if you’re sick to death.

They were my mistakes and now I am made of ice.

He who didn’t ask to come here can leave whenever he wants…

I’m still the child from that recess, it’s somewhere but I don’t see it now.

From head to toe I have a street.

We are one of those who learn only with sticks.

She’s playing catch-up, she doesn’t resist, I hug her tight; We’ll be lucky, don’t cry.

With my eyes on your soul I thought I was Cain.

You lost what many wait their whole lives for.

They asked for a float and they were given a pumpkin.

On the street my pocket is below zero, but my heart is whole.

I give music and they don’t appreciate the detail…

I have to get my shit out, fight for them, I swear on my dead that I try.

Embrace the current, let’s fly the air.

I make a fuss because I think a lot and because I read.

This life is already difficult to carry burdens with me.

We gather like the witches of Salem, tell God if he exists that we want more signs.

I for my brothers broken bones.

We are all the same: bone, skin and flesh.

I have outbursts, I have good times, I have black cats. That I don’t taste, that I later uncover. Maybe I am the one who covers them up by believing their lies.

We are all the same, bone, skin and flesh, take out your mistakes if you have come to judge me

They have no shine, you took away the sky, the world is beautiful from here on the ground.

Kids are addicts they want their dark side injection.

I finally see you, kill me without fear.

I love you, even if I never kneel.

Give me your wings, don’t be bad to me.

It lives on Earth but comes from the Moon.

The girl with the flowers in her hair, with starry eyes…

I love life, it loves me, it hurts me, it dominates me. She manipulates, she undresses me, and she throws me into the blizzard.

A lucky fisherman, the day I hooked that moray eel the sirens sounded.

I am not Romeo, but my verses are more beautiful.

For that brunette I committed a crime, for God’s sake, tell her to love me.

I’m going to give it my all because I no longer have anything.

Addicted to the rhythm, to tobacco, to his eyes, I swear they make you dizzy, they are like a whip, I never avoid it.

Feel the pain, you give me hardcore. I already have the poison…

May my soul be reincarnated into a cat, may it climb the roof to your room, I will not be jealous, I will only accompany you.

You carry so much rage inside that you are fire.

I kissed her lips, it was as warm as a summer morning in the tropics.

Tell me, what do you want? How will I pay for those verses you utter?

I have my demons screaming and they won’t shut up. His angel hand playing the harp. She calls me a dancing devil. She is moving it to me in a thong, I don’t feel anything anymore.

My love, how right you are; a sunrise at the sea, the tingling in your feet and the tingling when you breathe… are you coming?

I open my eyes and see yours, they are so big… there are no blemishes on your eyelashes and the Andes can fit.

I hug you and ah, I get that tingle…

If the media creates hate it is because the government wants hate, and if it wants us to hate each other it is so that we forget the obvious.

So much that you like to talk, point, testify, sing, calm your desire to show off…

Schizophrenic Spain, it won’t last a round. She is consumptive and junky like Amy Winehouse…

Don’t mess with me, death is alone. I have seen them all, knives and guns. I never gave you any trouble moving drugs. If I die now Barcelona cries…

This is purer than shooting yourself, like selling in the unemployment line, like hitting a rich man in the face with sticks, after swindling him out of money, I fan myself.

I don’t want any more reproaches. Women, women, more women… tomorrow you die and what do you have? where you come from? Nobody kisses our wrinkled skin anymore.

I tell stories that are almost lived. I am places that you almost smell them.

An attempt, a bitter piece, almost a rehearsal of my being my self… a high flight without taking the belt, wherever the wind takes us, where you haven’t seen yourself.

He is searching for himself and that is why he writes. She thinks it’s worth it and that’s why she continues. This is dead skin and it no longer lives. I’m not giving him life and he gets depressed…

It’s because of pride, you can’t understand it, if I don’t even flow, I have to change it.

They are keeping the land of their fathers, they are laughing at the war, the blood…

Posh people love their maid more than their mother.

Don’t lose the child you carry inside you, the day you lose him you will surely have died…

Fed up with appearances, stains, bad streaks.