La caza de Nariño (feat. Junior Zamora)

It's not an insult to be called peasants or Indians
Upstarts grandchildren of Nariño who think they're gringos
Ask for the bathroom, you'll only see arrows
They'll tell you that in the back, on the far right

There's a VIP and they won't let you in
I saw the mayor throwing pericles with the keys to the city
Carlos keeps talking about his land
Visit La Sierra Nevada then hug the one with the chainsaw

In this hell they teach religion
Education is not secular, it's Catholic and chews from the inside
Good people with a photo at Hacienda Nápoles
You go to pick coffee and end up with your boots on backwards

Ignorance has saved you
If they haven't killed you it's because you don't know too much
The dead don't matter, they cry over a bus with graffiti
They only like lawyer's signatures

They know their protests stay on social media
The outrage lasts two days, maximum three
I want a molotov cocktail for the thirst
They're against abortion and against everyone after being born, you see

How many letters are needed to pretend
That you bet everything and nothing as if nothing
You leave and I'm writing letters, the ones you hate
And now what else, do you burn?

If I tell them I dance they kick me out
I came to throw stones while they drink whiskey on the rocks
They go out to march in SUVs
The rich also cry, justifying the death of the poor

They take you from your land with white lies
The height of irony that these fakes have a free zone
They only seek to fill their coffers
They continue as if nothing, as if nobody, as if never

We, in our traditional ponchos, fighting for politics
In the center of democratic ruin
Among drinks and enemies
Fear governs us, Jehovah crucifying witnesses

If you shave, they fine you
They paint your face with the hand that feeds them
Unbridled comfort
Every city believes itself a state, divided by a few

The president changes even the Icontec standards
Erases the left margin, thinks it's against him
Try not to be a prosecutor
John Cena brought you dinner senator to the canvas

How many letters are needed to pretend
That you bet everything and nothing as if nothing
You leave and I'm writing letters, the ones you hate
And now what else, do you burn?