collection Petites Planètes presents
a musical portrait of the greatest Colombian hiphop artist ever, Cejaz Negraz and his Crack Family
performing a rare street performance in the heart of Ciudad Bolivar, the south zone of Bogota
Bogota, Colombia, may 2011
images, edit & mix by Vincent Moon
sounds by Mateo Jimeno & Alvaro Buendia
produced by El Parche
with the help of Lali Cienfuegos
Thirty in the morning at an insecure space, where no one sleeps
Two bedrooms where the devil enchants you. I’m reprehending for a line that gets longer. I sold ass during the day, without bathing.
Eyes that betray other souls with mobiles and more.
Door, at five in the morning Mario observing through the window. Greedy, save me a bomb for Sara…
That for many days you want to score, I’m forced to live hardships because I gave up school.
Where friends die for money or are in jail and I have charges because I did the same as them.
Society’s scum. Many moral punches, the history of Damin, looking for a price to give to the princess
Life’s soldier whom lives on the Street, a cheap freedom
And every scum with his chain that ruins his white shirt
I had to be like this…Mother of the Street
I had to be like this, dictated by the Estate, I am not your slave, but it wants me dead …
Empty world…Made of plastic
It’s a debate, searching and searching for a thousand more opportunities to make more songs
Bogota, Colombia for the world…
Through this rocky faded road,
society stares with contempt
Knowing that I come from the anthill…
This, my sick and blind nation, losing its trial,
My homeland addicted to trash, used by my mother
Without realizing that my childhood consumed in vice
A criminal’s chronicle, I became a judge of hunger and pain,
in those moments when I needed someone, I was tied up, bleeding in the abyss
I ran where? There’ no exit… and I lived with many missing lives
To know who is the good one and who is nobody, when a life is worth bread on the street.
Words are many and they’re delicate, I learned to love the blanket made of flea’s patches, and rusty knives,
and the cheap alcohol and the rats that overran my room
Stories, precarious neighbourhood
More than real, it is the rap elite, rap, rap
More than real, don’t you doubt it, it is the rap elite, you see them on the street non-stop
You lost the pain of these poor people I tell you about, I aspire a different life…
He never returned from the slavery suburb, I’m a professional rapper from the low hood, wandering the streets and steps,
Strengthening my intentions like the vulture long cloned sessions produced by Bacardi, assholes
Searching for the good gate to lead me to the path of love for life, and give the bad life a sour ending.
A lost seed that will not flourish its fruits.
A real novel, a cut out lie for a broken girl
Try to do good and don’t suffer, try to laugh and pretend a smile, see through compassion…dance reggaeton,
She wants to be sensual, and she suffers for a man who beats her, enough of the story,
where there is no TV nor meat on the plate, where a child’s dreams are Christmas presents,
and that Santa and baby Jesus don’t forget my neighbourhood once more,
Passed illusions… to lose the game without betting, we are poor or we are millionaires,
Looking for a door, wandering for an uncertain destiny
Life or death
More than real don’t you doubt it, more than real don’t you doubt it, it’s the rap elite, don’t you doubt it
Slaves of a bad game, destructive, dominating
We are vehicles with this government that threatens us
I’m not affiliated with the EPS, its a millionaires fictional story
I’m not the slave of your misery, if I’m a tramp in a hood’s garden
I’m not looking for your pension I don’t care about your salary…
You look at poverty from your luxury car, behind your glasses, how much were they?
We are the victims of an underground war, from the military
How much I long for a smile, when they stole it from you,
we have never fought in our own way, manipulated psychology by a fake guide
Religions that don’t know what else to make up…
A war’s life, the food plate and I starve and I’m hot and cold, suffering the needs of my hood
I fight for poverty in this cold world, who has had everything in life, life has smiled at you…
I dream of resistance, battle and war, looking for solutions between rats and parties
There are no services in heaven, and children suffer from beatings, you change education for firearms
Colombia, Colombia this is your essence