In this line we keep moving,
from one street to another,
chasing cars and 'whites',
no scooters and bikes,
cars give money,
bikes give disappointment,
those cars have value,
their owners doesn't,
We do it for living and we are habitual,
you call it begging, we call it work,
a routine to get a taste of truth,
a truth you do not wish to face,
that we are like you,
we pay tax on the breath we take,
on the dreams we see in the night,
not to chase but to be in that car,
how it feels to be on that silk seat,
how it is that it makes us chase it.
This car is sent to feed us,
the quickest money we earn,
the part of which goes to the big brothers,
the leaders of us,
who owns the road and who has the cars,
the kids of whom are neat and tidy,
having a home to live and eat healthy food,
have opportunity to fulfill their dreams,
and feel disgusted after seeing us moving in line,
the line in which we keep moving,
from one street to another.
