OG's (feat. T&K, Malandro, Nucleo y Chino CNO)

Yeah, I'm Chelo Delgado's three-fingered
No schedule, boss and delegate (what?)
In my legacy, many have been subdued
Drugged kids and stolen symbols
I speak the truth at the table, not one to pray
Now your company comes to try to surprise us
I know they don't express themselves when they see poverty
My surroundings stress and there my skill is seen
I could go to the States and forget my people
But I'm a son of this with an Oedipus complex
I live somewhat far, in a reflection of Egypt
I have so much fuel that my brother carries a zippo
Info in hieroglyphics that they release from the tap
I finish rapping and they know I'm the guy
Everyone in their world and I'm hunting as a team
Burning vegetables we have in Ziplocs

Okay (it's T&K, baby)
Okay, bae
Yeah, yes, yoh, oh
Yoh

They never understood that the shit we bring was fresh
This is for love, man, we were never fake
I shoot up in the air, a hit, all for my niggas
Hey-yoh, check it out, perfect shit
Fuck all those wannabes
Who are hating, yeah, fuck the police
Only my team bets to die, hey
That's being family forever, bae, hey
While they think about money, I think about living
Smoking cream, caramel, skills with the kings
Shoot the shit only Gs, oh, Jesus, you see them
Five beasts cut, in your face, not fake
I go from five in the post, oh
We're in another different stage
Bigger, hey, man, more aware
With my family we went head-on
Because whatever happens, brother, we're always together

(Malandro, baby)
Malandro, baby

Who's coming in? (Who?) The Dalí of lyrics
Like saying Talib Kweli or Skepta
Like breaking to the beat, forty air tracks
Goal after goal, call me a masterpiece
From the north side alone, alone, hey
With two pesos I made my nickname, today they're dollars
It's two kisses for all those who once
Said: "that's just a trend", here, have some
By bus, by train, by subway
Some paintings and some faces, ma'am, don't be scared
The south, the west, a mixture
The neighborhood was walked, zero Google
Let them know that Insta is not a gun
That they're telling stories, not rushing or scaring
That here are those who rapped about slums and settlements
So you can now live it from your iPhone and apartment

Swear
Chck-chck, eh, yah
TintaSucia is on the microphone, man
The Real Connection

The heaviest bars on your playlist
Among copies of Travis Scott and Billie Eilish
When we started, you were still a baby
I have those rappers studying the timing
I'm with the usual ones doing my thing
The fakes arrive late, they look like the police
She likes my skills and it makes you jealous, man
I have the respect of the greats for doing it right
I forgave many, what I have I earned
The voice of the people, like Luther King or Malcom X
My neighborhood is hardcore, like Las Tunas, Claypole
We're the usual ones, like never put on play
I have everyone waiting for me, spying on me
I'm bringing another dish to the table to eat
She fell in love on her own, I didn't even look at her
We're still up, like the eye on the pyramid

Yo', mmm
Here I am with the usual ones, as always
Let the one who lies to me die
When the atmosphere got complicated
There, exactly, I knew who my people were
I do things differently
Not like that fake who doesn't come to talk face to face
Your team may be strong
But what good is it to you? If it's always on the bench
I arrive suddenly, ready for the party
Sometimes I'm alone, sometimes we're like twenty
They're not gangsters but they go to the front
Family men, independent musicians
Don't mess with the family, you know it gets heated
Like everywhere, it rots, it gets complicated
That's why I always walk with mine, with my crew
It was never for fame, this shit identifies me