Down by the street I saw him walk by
With that swagger that only the handsome guys have,
hands always hidden in his pockets
so no one knows in which one he holds the knife.
He wears a big hat that he leaves askew
and sneakers so if there's problems he can run,
dark glasses so no one know's exactly what he's looking at
and one gold tooth that you can see shine when he smiles.
And a few blocks away there's a woman
pacing back and forth on the street,
and into a bar she walks and grabs herself a drink
just to forget that the day was bad and no customers came in.
A car drives really slowly down the street
it has no marks but everyone knows it's the police
Pedro Navaja, hands always inside his coat,
looks and smiles, that gold tooth shining again.
While he walks he looks slyly from side to side,
you can't see a soul, the whole street's deserted,
when he sees that woman leave the bar
and tightens his fist in his pocket.
He looks to one side, looks to the other, and sees no one,
and running, but not making a sound, he crosses the street
while on the other side the woman keeps walking,
complaining that she has no money for food.
While she walks, from her old coat she takes out a gun, this girl,
hiding it in her pocket so as not to cause any trouble,
her very own special '38 Smith and Wesson
that she brings around to ward off trouble.
And Pedro Navaja, knife in hand, sneaks up on her,
that gold tooth lighting up the whole street (This'll be easy!)
and while he laughs he starts sinking that knife into her back, no compassion,
when suddenly a shot as loud as a cannon rings out.
And Pedro Navaja fell down on the sidewalk as she watched, this girl,
and with the gun hanging in her hand, wounded, she says to him:
"I was thinking, today's not my day; I have bad luck.
But Pedro Navaja, you're way worse off--you have nothing."
And, believe me people, although there was noise no one came outside,
No one was curious, no one asked questions, no one wept.
Just a drunk tripped over the bodies.
He grabbed the gun, the knife, two bucks, and then walked off.
And, tripping all over, he went off singing out of tune.
The words I'm about to sing are the lesson of my song.
"Life gives you surprises, oh God, does life give you surprises."
Pedro Navaja, killed on the street, he who lives violently dies the same way.
You were a bad fisherman, that was bad bait you cast,
and instead of catching a little fish, you caught a shark.