FERNET (feat. Stiffy, Joshu Joshu y MATIASENCHUFE)

(THE MUSIC IS DEAD)
The kids are coming, they wanna fight
This is fernet, not double cup
This is fernet, not double cup

This is fernet, not double cup
This is plugged in, Hip Hop's got the vibe
Smoking a joint, it cures your COPD
Counting cash, I’m developing OCD

Without insurance, I don’t pay the Doc.
I got the medicine, but I’m not the Doc.
Knock on the door
I step out, got the drugs and I’m gone

I walk in, and it makes them drool—
I walk in, and it makes them drool— (D-D-DJ, drop the beat)
I walk in, and it makes them drool
Uh, uh, hey, uh, uh, uh (The new Argentine sound!)

I walk in, and it makes them drool
I walk in, and it makes them drool
I walk in, and it makes them drool (B-B-Bitches!; drool)
I walk in, and it makes them drool (The music is dead, Music 2.0 is born)
The music is dead

(Bitches!)
I keep it short, not long, I don’t drag it out
This shit kills, like Nahir Galarza
The cops and the gossipers are all up in my business
We’re in the trap making money moves

This shit hits hard, like a perfume blast
Selling some krippy that arrives in—, ah
Selling some krippy that comes by boat
Smoking a blunt with the kid from the deal

Smoking a blunt with the—
Smoking a blunt with the ambulance guy
Hits and gets high, looks like Mulan
Copy my style but can’t replicate

World champions, we’re not in Qatar
That’s not gas, that’s some green
There’s cheese on top, and I’m not at Güerrín
The old folks don’t get it and start to hate
The kids are coming, they wanna fight

This is fernet, not double cup
This is plugged in, Hip Hop's got the vibe
Smoking a joint, it cures your COPD
Counting cash, I’m developing OCD

Without insurance, I don’t pay the Doc.
I got the medicine, but I’m not the Doc.
Knock on the door
I step out, got the drugs and I—

I got it spinning, and it’s not Julio Bocc’
My girl’s in Supreme, doesn’t wear Le Coq
I text her, and she replies, “Okay”
I got the crew, and I’m not playing for Boc’

I got those fools on the run
Making money while you’re just a dumbass (screw that!)
You pray to San Roque but you’re not a dog
Smoking some gas, looks like Peyote

(The new Argentine sound!)
Uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh, uh
Uff, uff-uff-uff-uff-uff
Uff, uff-uff-uff-uff-uff
Uff, uff-uh-uff, uh, bro
(It's SWAGGERBOYZ!)
( B-Bitches!)

Smoking some krippy, Colombian
Those fools got their hands up their asses
Summer’s just starting to roll in
I play it like a keyboard, Pablo Lescano

Blow the flute, man
Listen to this track, put it in reverse
Blow the flute, man
That’s on point, and she’s playing coy

She enjoys it like a milanesa
Smoking a big joint, they’re smoking Lavender
The nosy neighbor, she’s like Candace
Just because in my crib there’s a high railing

There’s a high railing like Ricky Ricón
I’m not Jor–Ricky Ricón
I’m not Jordi, but I send her to the corner
She’s got a ghetto audio of mine as a ringtone
For her it’s little, for me it’s a lot, ah