Yo, light the copal, string the paper, picado, guitars grind, maracas slap, drums like a heart kick, go!
Grandpa Ramon on the mic, he smits La Guerra's rhyme, skeleton grin, neon bruise, we steal a laugh from time.
Skulls with paint, simple sutra, crown the street, sugar skulls, wink, calaveritas, crunch with beat, nine!
A friend is glow, photos, tequila, old carms, abuela hums a buletto, but now she rocks the toms,
she stirs her mold like thunder, trumpet blast, no mask, remembers work, remembers love, tells tales in half a gasp,
pit bell picado flutters like flags of memory, we laugh at ghosts, we roast the dark, we honor what will be.
Raise a candle, feel the pulse, copal smoke writes our names in posts,
from the kitchen to the grave we fuse, tonight the living got nothing to lose.
Calaveras, chaos, streets ignite the beat, dance with nuestros, muertos, punk and heartbeat,
laugh the fear away, clap, stomp, repeat, day of the dead, fiesta in the street.
Grandpa Ramon spit rhymes about La Guerra, now he's on mic, punchlines about ration stamps, conga line of the night,
he cracks wires about lost teeth, about the radio war, now he raps with the maraca, breakbeat through the door.
Little kids in calacas, pogo like tiny suns, brass stabs, distorted chords, a riot of sugar tongs,
Abuela's mole hits like a trumpet blast, warm and bright, she folds our grief in tortillas, serves memory by night.
Candles flick, names aloud, we raise a toast, we laugh out loud,
old wounds dress in papel, we choose to dance with what we cannot lose.
Calaveras, chaos, streets ignite the beat, dance with nuestros, muertos, punk and heartbeat,
laugh the fear away, clap, stomp, repeat, day of the dead, fiesta in the street.
¿Quién vive? Who lives? Viva, viva, viva.
¿Quién canta? Who sings? Viva, viva, viva.
¿Quién recuerda? Who remembers? Viva los que fueron, viva.
Fast talk, tongue twist, double time with snare clicks, spit tiny jokes about the cemetery's gimmicks,
hey Gramps, where's your dentures? He answers with a grin, climate's fine in the afterlife, cheaper beer, less sin.
Maracas roll like hi-hats, brass like a siren's laugh, we roast the dark with satire, hug the past.
Calaveras, chaos, streets ignite the beat, dance with nuestros, muertos, punk and heartbeat,
laugh the fear away, clap, stomp, repeat, day of the dead, fiesta in the street.
So light the cobalt, pin the photo, sing a joke to the sky,
tonight we punk the sorrow, teach the night to cry, we live loud for the lost, mi familia, mi crew,
el día de los muertos we laugh, remember, renew.
