Verdades Ficticias

I'm all dressed up 'cause I had a coffee and I'm kinda hyper
Smooth, okay?
Viso rivera, hey
Turn off the lights, I'm here to enlighten you as usual
It's my concern to come down from my peak so this world doesn't collapse on me
People get confused, don't get distressed, don't get troubled
Walking genre, these taxis are slow, calm down 'cause I'm here, yubel, ah
I'm sick of these rappers saying they write on the streets
They say they kill, that they all have guns and boast with those lies (fake)

The streets attract what they write and there's an eighty percent missing
The sound on the streets is the crying of mothers when a son is killed
When a child's father is taken away and never comes back
Giant families, drugs crush them and they go from big to compact
My letters arrive saying they owe to the boss and spend it all on alcohol
He gets home late, and mistreats his wife drunk
Don't talk to me about the streets, it's clear from miles away that your pupil is still intact
Of what they write, you don't have the record, if it's fake then contact me (wooh)

Your lyrics aren't self-taught, that's why they're putrid to me
They say: The streets burn me and they live colder than Alaska
One day they'll see you're not street at all and people will be amazed (what?)
Feel a little heat and they go on their knees and retract everything
And the easy, the pretty, mention something positive they provide
Anyone promotes violence when they shield the cars they own
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie and lie
That's what they do, repeat lies in all the topics they throw
Tony Montana are all and all looking for the same elvira

They promote sex and then wonder if they'll get AIDS someday
They promote death and then make songs if a buddy loses his life
They promote cheating and then question if a buddy comes and turns on them
It's better to watch your words, 'cause everything you say and throw
Sooner or later, no matter how much you dodge it, someday it'll turn on you
Another wife left widowed, her money account is sharp
Kids without daddy, and the new daddy doesn't help (ah)
They fill their bodies and minds with marks and their innocence naked
Sorry if I offend you, but I speak the truths raw (yes, sir)
It can't be that this continues the same way

The stamp falls the same on everyone (wooh)
If you want to be salt, come out of the salt shaker
To change the world you have to confront
Fictitious truths, you want to see the streets, watch the news
The Bible warns about it, hurry up 'cause it's the scoop (yeh)
Your fake trap doesn't help death and suffocates the people with debt
They throw at the rulers saying they lie and they're just like them, I don't know why they judge (wooh)
They sell their fake lyrics, fame and money addict them (ah)
They feel proud if they notice that whoever dissed them one day shows greed
And the media, that's what they sponsor, prophets of filth
In the vocalization it begins, the end the clock caresses, Christ is coming, what a delight (amen)
Christians only with militia, 'cause being without Christ doesn't benefit me (ah)

Panda, panda, they give propaganda to the cowboys
The cemeteries grow and few are the hearts that soften (yeh)
Truth or lie, not both, your truths walk me in a zigzag
Here we're either white or black, we're not two-tone like a panda (yeh)
Keep running, daddy (haha)
Alright
I heard someone saying that if trap is a movement
To talk about the streets, what happens on the streets and that the streets are about killing, and all that
Daddy, that's a fictitious street
They're half-truths, you understand?
Don't talk about knowledge if you're actually looking for excuses
To throw away all that everyone's throwing
Everyone says they throw different music

Another point of view of the streets and they all throw the same thing
You want to talk about real streets, daddy?
It's not just about killing, it's not just about telling me
How many women you've been with, or what you're smoking
Tell me about those mothers who suffer every day
Because their child hasn't come back
Tell me about those fathers who leave and leave the kids alone
Tell me about young people like us who have gone crazy
Who get high on trips because of drugs

Or who have been killed at a young age, without even living, brother
That's the real street, what Puerto Rico and the whole world are suffering
Let's talk about things that make sense, okay?
But no, wizo, we're still here
A matter of innovating what's already been created
They don't want me to make real trap, bro'
So, guess what? Imma do the greatest trap Eva'
The realest trap, Eva'
Emc, baby, I feel like a little bit bilingual, bro'
Gabriel rodriguez
The joy of the Lord is my strength, daddy
But you know we're getting tired of this
You're rapping the same weak game, bro'
It's all the same, no difference