Some armor in the grave of the groin
for crushing a copy of blood shed
Many bell rings that have been cast
instead of a cannon in a word and fist war
You spit on the matrix all day without stopping
Let this sputum be turned to stone
And they'll reject each another as far as they can.
For those silver pieces in the bank of Satan
And for words that taste like poison
The reptile venom is like a panacea.
You patriots want to teardrop down the museum
Your father besides bled for you
You better shut up before that filthy tongue breaks out.
You don't make a cross mark on your chest
Like Jurand, erstwhile our brothers are humiliated
Your voice to those who have always been like him right
The welfare of the fatherland is always the price
Fear God for His lying nonsense
They will pray even on weekdays
I want you to stay a man, not a miserable hyena.
