Oro (feat. Bardero$)

Oh (oh)
Oh (oh, oh, oh)

Hanging from the neck a couple of girls as if they were chains
As if I were made of gold
Rolex, mansions, Mercedes, clothes and others' envy
I buy everything with my choruses

And now envy me because I won, come on
Now shoot me, tell me what you're going to do, go ahead
I'm with hitmen, ex-convicts, criminals in my chorus
Bastard, I feel like gold

My enemy is love, but my friend is money
See how it gets me out of trouble
My enemy is love, but my friend is money
And now everyone wants to be friends with my friend
I was born among problems, I grew up among problems
Dude, I am a problem, and now you have a problem

Because just like with the awards, what happened to me, what happened?
Your girl nominated me, and guess who won
At 17, with an empty stomach and worn-out sneakers
There are more than 20 now, friends who died, not paying the fee
I'm over 30, kilos across the border of coke and weed
But the cops say, it's still noticeable

Hanging from the neck a couple of girls as if they were chains
As if I were made of gold
Rolex, mansions, Mercedes, clothes and others' envy
I buy everything with my choruses

And now envy me because I won, come on
Now shoot me, tell me what you're going to do, go ahead
I'm with hitmen, ex-convicts, criminals in my chorus
Bastard, I feel like gold (ah)

You don't belong here, in the neighborhood where I grew up
Crimes caused by my G's, the cops can't get out
Freedom and disaster in my face, inhaling in Guadalajara
If you talk too much, bullets rain, I know your merchandise is bad

The Fox wants to see evil, let's give it, many eat it
If they want to shoot me, I'll wait for them here, bunch of cowards
They don't have my damn weight and even less the bars of my lines
Crime is burning, everyone knows, no one intervenes, wow

Mine is a different story
I always go with my thugs, hey
Sound for traffickers
Bastard, I feel like gold

Hanging from the neck a couple of girls as if they were chains
(Yeah, yeah, give me a lot of the good stuff)
As if I were made of gold
Rolex, mansions, Mercedes, clothes and others' envy
(Good stuff, good stuff)
I buy everything with my choruses

My aunt Mariela used to hide the baking soda from me (aunt)
So I wouldn't cook what was on the plate (yeah)
Now I've distanced myself from that, made a pact with God (yes)
Record labels kneel for a deal with me
I walk anywhere, confident and prepared
In any neighborhood they respect me like a saint (the main one)
Rappers who talk about level, it's not that much
If they compare this son of a bitch born in the countryside
Do you want me to respect you? Give me respect, son

Before I take advantage and show it with another album
My motto has always been to be a different player (yes)
I'm Maradona at the Azteca and Christ's hand
Bardero$ clicks with C-Kan, they leave something written
Playing in Buenos Aires, Monterrey district
A lover of problems, I always complicate things
And if I get rich, I'll go back to my small town
I swear, Christ!

Hanging from the neck a couple of girls as if they were chains
As if I were made of gold
Rolex, mansions, Mercedes, clothes and others' envy
I buy everything with my choruses

And now envy me because I won, come on
Now shoot me, tell me what you're going to do, go ahead
I'm with hitmen, ex-convicts, criminals in my chorus
Bastard, I feel like gold (ah)