Muerte Al Sapo

Yo, yeah

They’re watching my moves to get ahead of me
And I’m just smoking in my chair to conquer my hunger
For a while now, those fools wanna catch me
'Cause it hurts them that my crew’s got blood to spare
Shoutout to the underground, to my grandpa and my dad

And the one who’s there when things get heated
Honestly, I’m not looking for partners or rivals
I’m just after the cash, don’t care who’s giving it
A hard worker, an interesting rapper

There are a lot of snitches in the game trying to trap you
I don’t need my bars to intimidate you (nah, nah)
The weight of my education just puts you in your place
I’m everywhere, looking for the dough
If I cross a frog, I’ll dodge like Ortega the donkey

I’m running, making more like Sonic from Sega
I can dominate rap like Tony Las Vegas
Doesn’t matter who’s moving it, the point is it moves
We got Crips for more profit and fresh goods
I wanna have two or three houses before I die

See my grandkids in the hood still hitting the books
I can’t mess up, gotta be precise
I can step into the big leagues without asking for permission (no)
Where a lot talk about levels but are stuck on the ground
Or take what’s a warning as a threat
I spit it raw, kid, like the rrioba likes it

Where they don’t talk politics but about drugs
About the one who slept 'cause he left the house alone
Where pure chaos lives at all hours
And at all hours, we’re gonna keep sounding
On every corner, in every bar, and in every hood
And I won’t deny I rap like a hitman (no)
But here, there are only bullets for the canary, canary.