Cuando faltan cronopios

Crónicas de ciertos amigos que llegué a conocer


viernes
  April 26th, 1992. There was a riot on the streets. Tell me where were you? You were sittin' home watchin' your TV, while I was participating in some anarchy.

First spot we hit it was the liquor store: I finally got all that alcohol I can't afford. With red lights flashin', time to retire. And then we turned that liquor store into a structure fire. Next stop we hit, it was the music shop, it only took one brick to make the window drop: finally we got our own P.A. Where do you think I got this guitar that you're hearing today? When we returned to the pad to unload everything, it dawned on me that I need new home furnishings. So once again we filled the van until it was full. Since that day my livin' room's been much more comfortable.

Cause everybody in the hood has had it up to here. It's getting harder, and harder, and harder each and every year. Some kids went in a store with their mother, I saw her when she came out she was gettin' some Pampers.

They said it was for the black man, they said it was for the mexican, but not for the white man. But if you look at the streets, it wasn't about Rodney King. It's this fucked-up situation and these fucked-up police. It's about comin' up and stayin' on top and became 187 on a mother fuckin' cop. It's ain't in the paper, it's on the wall.

National guard. Smoke from all around. Let it burn. Wanna let it burn, wanna let it burn, wanna wanna let it burn (I feel insane). Riots on the streets if Miami. Whoa, riots on the streets of Chicago. On the streets of Long Beach. In San Francisco. Riots on the streets of Kansas City. Tuskaloosa, Alabama. Cleveland, Ohio. Fountainberry, Paramount, Vista Buelle. Eugene, Oregon. Eureka, California. Hesperia, Santa Barbara. Mother fuckin' Nevada. San Diego. Lakewood, Florida. Fuckin' 29 Palms.
Sublime: April 29th, 1992 
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