The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
I'm on the border of Bolivia, working for pennies
Treated like a slave, the coca fields have to be ready
The spirit of my people is starving, broken and sweaty
Dreaming about revolution looking at my machete
But the workload is too heavy to rise up in arms
And if I ran away, I know they'd probably murder my moms
So I pray to Jesus Cristo when I go to the mission
Process the cocaine paste, and play my position
Ok, listen, Juan Valdez, just get me my product
Before we chop off your hands for worker's misconduct
I got the power to shoot a copper, and not get charged
And it would be sad to see your family in front of a firing squad
So, to feed your kids? I need these bricks
Forty tons in total, let me test it, indeed, I
Shit, this is good, pass me a tissue
And don't worry about them, I paid off the official
Yo, it don't come as a challenge, I'm the son of some of the foulest
Elected by my people, the only one on the ballot
Born and bred to consult with feds, I laugh at fate
And assassinate my predecessor to have his place
In a Third World fascist state, lock the nation
With 90% of the wealth in 10% of the population
The Central Intelligence Agency takes weight faithfully
The finest type of China white and cocaine, you'll see
Honey, I'm home! Never mind why your bank account's suddenly grown
It's funny we're so out of this debt from this money we owe!
Would you run if I told you that I had two governments overthrown
To keep our son enrolled in a private school and to keep our tummies swollen?
Come on, our fucking home was built on a foundation of bloody throats
The hungry stolen of their souls, of course this country's running coke
I took a stunted oath to hush the ones who know
The CIA conducts the flow for these young hustlers that lust for dough
I don't work in the hood, hit my connect
That's what's really good
They supply work to the hood
These dudes fucking crack me up
Scrutinized like we inferior, petrified when we meet in my area
My dudes don't shoot until I say so, you got the loot?
Give me the "Yay-Yay!" Like Ice Cube, so don't play with my yayo
We won't stop for you bastards
My street scramblers chop it and bag it
Taking pictures and tapping phones, debating snitches and cracking codes
Fast to cuff or blast the fo' on any hustler stacking dough
There's probably crack or blow
And my overtime is where your taxes go
I'll gain your trust get you to hand weight to us 'cause we paid up front
On the low with cameras taping ya, getting popped with weight?
The prison sentence is due, make the call
And then leave with two keys out the evidence room
With my fame, truck, boat, or plane, they're watching you
You think you got work? They're copping too!
We control blocks, they lock countries and own companies
We had nice cars and sneaker money!
Now there's players out there talking 'bout they holding
With bugs in their house like they down South with windows open
Your dough ain't long, you wrong, you take shorts and soon
Feds'll be up in your mouth like forks and spoons
So enjoy the rush, live plush off coke bread
Soon you'll be in a cell with me like Jenny Lopez
In a school, I was a bully, now life is fully a joke
I'll keep afloat on a boat for Peruvian coke
Players do favors for governors and tax makers
Fat Quakers smoke crack and sex acts with bad mayors
The walls got ears, you bigmouths probably scared
Not prepared to do years like Javier
Treated like a slave, the coca fields have to be ready
The spirit of my people is starving, broken and sweaty
Dreaming about revolution looking at my machete
But the workload is too heavy to rise up in arms
And if I ran away, I know they'd probably murder my moms
So I pray to Jesus Cristo when I go to the mission
Process the cocaine paste, and play my position
Ok, listen, Juan Valdez, just get me my product
Before we chop off your hands for worker's misconduct
I got the power to shoot a copper, and not get charged
And it would be sad to see your family in front of a firing squad
So, to feed your kids? I need these bricks
Forty tons in total, let me test it, indeed, I
Shit, this is good, pass me a tissue
And don't worry about them, I paid off the official
Yo, it don't come as a challenge, I'm the son of some of the foulest
Elected by my people, the only one on the ballot
Born and bred to consult with feds, I laugh at fate
And assassinate my predecessor to have his place
In a Third World fascist state, lock the nation
With 90% of the wealth in 10% of the population
The Central Intelligence Agency takes weight faithfully
The finest type of China white and cocaine, you'll see
Honey, I'm home! Never mind why your bank account's suddenly grown
It's funny we're so out of this debt from this money we owe!
Would you run if I told you that I had two governments overthrown
To keep our son enrolled in a private school and to keep our tummies swollen?
Come on, our fucking home was built on a foundation of bloody throats
The hungry stolen of their souls, of course this country's running coke
I took a stunted oath to hush the ones who know
The CIA conducts the flow for these young hustlers that lust for dough
I don't work in the hood, hit my connect
That's what's really good
They supply work to the hood
These dudes fucking crack me up
Scrutinized like we inferior, petrified when we meet in my area
My dudes don't shoot until I say so, you got the loot?
Give me the "Yay-Yay!" Like Ice Cube, so don't play with my yayo
We won't stop for you bastards
My street scramblers chop it and bag it
Taking pictures and tapping phones, debating snitches and cracking codes
Fast to cuff or blast the fo' on any hustler stacking dough
There's probably crack or blow
And my overtime is where your taxes go
I'll gain your trust get you to hand weight to us 'cause we paid up front
On the low with cameras taping ya, getting popped with weight?
The prison sentence is due, make the call
And then leave with two keys out the evidence room
With my fame, truck, boat, or plane, they're watching you
You think you got work? They're copping too!
We control blocks, they lock countries and own companies
We had nice cars and sneaker money!
Now there's players out there talking 'bout they holding
With bugs in their house like they down South with windows open
Your dough ain't long, you wrong, you take shorts and soon
Feds'll be up in your mouth like forks and spoons
So enjoy the rush, live plush off coke bread
Soon you'll be in a cell with me like Jenny Lopez
In a school, I was a bully, now life is fully a joke
I'll keep afloat on a boat for Peruvian coke
Players do favors for governors and tax makers
Fat Quakers smoke crack and sex acts with bad mayors
The walls got ears, you bigmouths probably scared
Not prepared to do years like Javier
Lyrics submitted by kidnotorious
Peruvian Cocaine Lyrics as written by Felipe Andres Coronel Douglas Toure Harris
Lyrics © GREAT SOUTH BAY MUSIC GROUP INC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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it's "fascist" state not fashion state. and Yayo, not llello unless that's just another way of spelling it.