This place of plastic
Where the face of the renaissance is wasteland
And the real is a remnant of the poverty
And the loneliness where no home is controlled
Streets are shrouded by the extravagance
Of the privileged, no, we the elitist
Will never be like that
We'll simply rise up back
We're the struggling masses
Where we come from
Is how we will live
Beauty in chaos
Not the Hollywood bullshit
Where we come from
Is how we survive
It's in our blood
Don't you ever forget it
The concrete jungle
Where we rest our heads
In the midst of the madness
This is where we live
And this is where we'll die
Our birth place
Our burial site (Our burial site)
This is where we'll die
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