Pijos Pajos (feat. Shotta)

Yo!
I entertain myself by crushing dickheads in the most frequent posh places
It's not eloquent
I crush your technique with my pinky finger
I'll sink you and your Spanish flag
Damn fascists, racists, and classists
You fell at birth and that you're messed up is obvious
Scattered in groups of Nazis coming out unscathed
Pray if I yawn, the bite will be intense
Posh wanker! Watch your kids
When these thugs pass by, put band-aids on them
On wounds provoked by this pair of sickos
Who vomit in swastikas (and in your piggy face)
I anticipate any resident in Santa Clara, I flick the zippo
I'm amazed by Dilated People
Your relative took you to the Alfonso XIII to steal your virginity
Being underage, what a guy
I manage supply with poison for the clever ones
Intellect is so seen
I insist on fucking you
If you're a fascist, I'll explode you like a bomb
Or I'll waste a whole bottle of cleaning spray in your eyes

[Shotta]
I just saw them, there are 3 coming out of a BMW
I insult them harshly (posh) their environment consumes my calm
They boast about their social status
They assume that a problem will be that they measure too much
I catch them at the end of the tunnel
My Opel Kadett against your father's car
I spit on the window, they're listening to Alex Ubago
They're not socially committed and they help mentally challenged people
Only if it doesn't take away their time to play paddle tennis
I know, those who defend the PP in the park
They're bothered by the smell of chocolate
Your friends, alcoholics, are different apart
They wear Spanish chicks and know what they're doing
Do the dance class, read in braille
Take a chill pill, dummy, I address you informally, I can't tolerate your airs
Of superiority
The difference between you and those who park cars on my street
I suppose it's the suit
Bend down and suck this Versace pheasant
Fashion from the chalet
In my opinion, you're Inspector Gachet
My dick when it spits is similar to your boyfriend's face having coffee and talking about the PP
(I hate you) we're different, money and the importance you give to it, money-minded
We are sincere

[Jesuly]
Nacho, they come with their hands down and crying
Begging their mothers to end this as soon as possible
With Lacoste chicks
Now Tommy Hilfiger, not for nothing but let it be known
Your partner abuses your credit card and laughs at you
She'll keep you like Maradona's coke
She boasts about her partner, a rich guy who always pays
Who's usually scared and shits himself at the slightest thing
I laugh at every pathetic rociero cap
I love the Spanish flag because it's flammable
I dedicate these verses to the president of the government
Promising although he doesn't deliver and owner of a pair of horns
I'll slice you all up
If you're from Remedios, this is serious, posh wanker
I don't see you when I go to the park
You'll be locked up, not playing Counter-Strike
Your last words will be: Why me?
I use my metrics as if it were a bladed weapon
You shop at Massimo Dutti, those from my neighborhood at Zara Tara
Go in your Land Rover while your nation burns
And you were too cowardly to show your face

[Shotta]
Little Jesu, they just ate at Mariscos Emilio
With Beckham's hairstyle and Cecilium's face
I envy not having a care in the world
Anyway, if something goes wrong, daddy will help you pay
It's nothing, it's nothing
I depend on an impulse
I propel dirty flow
Deep all your course, I live in the underworld (ye!)
Flying tennis balls catch effect
Nacho forces your partner to dive into manure
For showing off a tuned car
I take you to the burto with the mano or to the Corsa in Jesus' Sony
I'm your son's friend who you didn't let in his birthday party when he was a kid
I don't fit in your place, I'll break your bathroom
Posh equals wanker
I'm going to burn the yacht club
Is your boyfriend a techno DJ?
Jump from an attic with your shoes on
And a photo of Franco the size of a meat in your wallet
No one will feel sorry for you
I sit on a block to drink beer
Your last sentence will be: Don't see if it abuses
Posh wanker, shitty posh wanker, you suck
Sevilla City, in your ass, that's what's up
Fran Perea, with the face of a cube