Velho, você me mata todo dia
Com sua cara de quem poderia
Fazer o que quisesse
Sem se importar com qualquer idiota
Marca de pneu, pulmão de fumaça
Sabe, velho, eu deveria te matar
Mas qualquer idiota do planeta
Só queria estar no seu lugar
Com os punhos bem fechados
Eu tento me recolher, pois
Te ver morto seria o ideal
Mas prefiro te ver adoecer
Apodrecer…
Idiota, à ninguém irá comover
Um câncer…
OLD MAN
Old man, you kill me every day
WIth a face like you could
Do whatever you wanted
Without caring about any other idiot
Skid marks, smoke filled lungs
You know, old man, I should kill you
But any other idiot in this planet
Would want to be in your place
WIth clenched fists
I try to recoil, because
To see you dead would be ideal
But I'd rather see you get sick
Rot...
Idiot, nobody's going to be touched
A cancer...
All killer, no filler, out to prove that pure 100% proof hardcore punk doesn't have to be generic or boring. Like a modern version of early Youth Brigade, Colera or Battalion Of Saints! Futuro