Mochadores (1ª parte)

You feel like a man mentioning my name
But I name what I consider to be just rubble
You're below my shoulder, your bad way of
Rapping is the only thing that amazes me
Are you going to shoot me with the gun?
The least I carry for you is a beretta
I don't chat like you
Watch your attitude because here in Catia for free we give you a coffin
Don't come to me saying you carry and move pots
You don't impress me, not even on fire
I get mad at you but in the street
If you want to settle a fight, do it in the street
Poor clowns who can't even take a hit
Envy has them drowning in a glass
Who wins awards, who appears on TV and magazines
Tell me who's on the radio and in the top lists
You'll sound in your house and if anything, who the hell pays attention
All you have to do is make way
You'll never take my place
No matter how much you want to be a thug and a singer like Tupac
You have to suck it like you've been doing year after year
I'm dry guerrilla, you're just a stranger
With the three albums I have, I'll take you
And all this time you've been seeing it with your own eyes
You shove your thug life with vaseline
With me it's Petare, Catia, and Pinto Salinas
If you want a showdown, just throw yourself
So you can see that I'll take you down on my own
That's you, walking scared with bodyguards
They can kill an entire army for me, I don't care
In my neighborhood, triggers are pulled too
I act on instinct, not on bullets
I've been carrying since I was... like 13
Ask anyone who knows me if you dare
You're just starting to show up
You're not a friend
You're just a fucking cocksucker

CHORUS
Because they want to dim my shine
But now they'll have to listen to me
(The thug on stage)
Keep throwing, you'll get tired
You won't be able to advance more than me
(They're living traumas)
There are the snitches who want to throw themselves
They're the first ones who will back off
(Playing smart for the one who comes out)
With their poison, they'll dry up
Kid, they can't handle GCK
No, no, no

Playing smart in the street against the active world
Of the mochadores who dream of shooting me
Are they angels or demons?
Speak clearly, son
Happy triggers in revolt because of the shine
Today is one more day I breathe
The world, the jungle of killers
Where they've tried to blow me up
My God hasn't wanted, allowed
To leave me defeated, we're clear
I'm not a saint, kid
Bullets have blown my ear trying to knock me down
Sense of destiny
Of a black man who moves negatively or positively
That's why when I write everything live
I narrate what I live since I'm alive and running, traveled
On the track like a 30
When they catch the snake, the cops
Want to party
They've shot me to shut me up
Just to fill a formula
We kill Colombia with dry guerrilla

(Look! I'm not killed by who wants to.. but who can
Look! The black guys have come together again, the ones from the neighborhood
The realest, the ones who have always spoken to
Venezuela as it is!
So respect... You're just a rookie... Come on...)

CHORUS (X2)