Politics is straight-up barrio warfare, carnales.
Imagine this,
Hey, my carnal, do you remember those days as a damn kid in the streets, scraping for every dollar like it was drugs from a hidden package? That's my law: every fucked-up desmadre is just a golden opportunity to fill your pockets with pure green cash.
But twisting those messes into pure torture? ¡Ay, cabrón! That's a sin that not even the devil would forgive, right?
Come on, let's chew on this like a juicy taco of political wisdom.
Squeeze your people too hard, like crushing a defenseless vaca under your bloodstained boot, and you'll awaken a swarm of venomous wasps, their stingers ready to stab into your treacherous veins.
But whisper sweet deals in the shadows of voluntary trades, divide the loot like forbidden treasures from a midnight game, and the barrio shadows will cloak you in fierce loyalty, warmer than a ghostly abuela's embrace.
Step on the toes of the powerful jefes, and zap!
<…their steel gauntlet will shatter your skull into oblivion.
>Forgive these twisted nursery rhymes, carnal, but politics is a graveyard for weak-willed pendejos lost in foolish illusions.
