BRRR

This is gangster music
Real until death, did you hear, bastard?
Santurce, Carolina
Brr
Bayamón

I'm from Torres de Sabana
Where demons are raised, where soldiers are created
Where sons of bitches are raised
The 65

This is for all my 27 in prison and on the street (grab the knives)
The untouchables, did you hear, ass-kisser? (hold on to the blades, ah?)

Walking to the projects when I was a kid with my buddies
Guns loaded because I don't even trust God
Crack and coke packages at my uncle's house
Dad lost his job and there's no money, we're screwed

He doesn't even know I sell drugs, or at least I think so
My first gun was a Smith & Wesson
Then I had a Springfield FN until I bought my first Glock
And a couple of boxes of ammo that the Lord gave me

I shot them and started making money
The boss liked how Anuel packages the coke
I never asked for help, I liked killing people
I earn my own and wanted a permanent kiosk

They killed Jota, wow, and how I cried
Sadly we buried him and said amen
The one who did it fronted, I waited for him at home
And after I killed him, they told me it wasn't him, damn

They caught me armed and I trusted
A couple of days passed, what are you doing?, I didn't sleep
Seventy was in Almonte without sleeping or bathing, I didn't get tired
Leaving the garage I crashed into his house

I'm fighting the case, praying I don't get charged with murder
If I see something strange, I leave and go in contempt
Let them do their job and look for me, I'll give them a tip
I'm making money with the devices

The kilos going up, the tickets going down and I'm counting
The babes calling, they found out I'm on top
I'm in Gucci with the devils, everyone spending
With all the guns on us, as if we were robbing

The Dominican is calling, the kilos arrived in New York
The Yankee texting says he's on top
But I'm here happily rolling a blunt
Listen, so you understand

I light up and celebrate, the boss calling saying I'm on top
When I collect from everyone I square up
We'll do the same thing the day after tomorrow
Every time I give him thirty

Doing wheelies in the Four Truck and donating in the Hellcat
The merchandise is coming, the Mexican is already close
The coke is damn good, the gringos making faces
In my corner the cops don't mess around

John Wick in the click, thirty to give you RIP
We stop you in Uber and light up the Iraqi stick
The state troopers are bothering and the feds investigating
Junkies dodging, the projects are buzzing

And the devils do whatever I say
G27-J80, one family
Betrayal is from Judas and death is his friend
That's why cursed is the man who trusts another man

I had to do two years for the gun they caught me with
But I made more money in the prisons they put me in
I met a Colombian and he ended up being my brother
And now we're pushing coke to the Americans

When I was in prison they took away my kiosk
The brothers turned, folded, and skipped life for me
But they dropped it because they burned it
And now that I'm out I'm going to kill all those who betrayed me

I take two pills and become a devil
God is on my waist, under my armpit the carbon
The demons kill you and I took out four cars
We're going inside the neighborhood with the guns to detonate, brr

The Dominican is calling, the kilos arrived in New York
The Yankee texting says he's on top
But I'm here happily rolling a blunt
Listen, so you understand (real until death, did you hear, bastard?)

I light up and celebrate, the boss calling saying I'm on top
When I collect from everyone I square up
We'll do the same thing the day after tomorrow
Every time I give him thirty