i eat the food of the soft and hard work
   no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that works
   a life of effort all live with the true

of not excisting in the mind of self
   and what we call god is a bandaid that
is better than nothing as we bleed life
   out of love upon a table raza

which is true yet maleable so now
   we walk and talk the walking head maybe
not a word is true that's not thought softly in
   a moment of yells and we follow

as to the inner true unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i do not know what

Que nadie te desgracie
Que el pueblo te mueva
Que la elegancia de victoria
Que del formato de vivir
de la estancia en la Tierra
Solo te queda las manos
al final de tus días
Y en último
Te animas a buscar un perfecto
Día

We are the calloused hands of agriculture
The sun burned neck of labor
The bruised heel of infrastructure
We are those who go without praise or applause
Who wake up early
And go to sleep late
So that our sons and daughters have food on their plates
We are hated for our pigment
We are hated for our accent
Pigeonholed as rapists and smugglers
But really, we do the **** pendejos would never do
And we do it with pride on our sleeves
And love in our hearts
Because sometimes our families are countries apart
We take jobs that are not glamorous
And let racists hammer us
And use that hammer to sustain our families