Jugador Distinto

Yeah
Alright
(Come on)
Rap is kinda whatever, Coco, listen up
See? Hmm, yeah, now, yeah
Yeah, now, yeah, yo

There's still a trace of fuck up
In a neighborhood that listens to Colombian cumbia but loves rap
Where I got lost as a kid
Diving into knots, high-rises, and spins
Chasing beats and rhythms on the track

Here, even a glance can offend
Don’t let the touch get you scheduled
You learn even from the humidity
Two of the twelve are lit
And I don’t know
It’s what I don’t even fall in love with
What the TV doesn’t get and the radio doesn’t know

My found if you’re leaving
I’m from the strong, but that doesn’t mean they’ll hear me like a derivative of Esteban
And in the end, I’m the stone that broke the scissors that
Cut us all equally

Going out was my only encounter with my music
You know? There was no cash to waste on an MP3
And the few coins that circulated at home
Helped to trick hunger until next month

And my kicks as a kid helped
When Dad kicked me out because he found out I liked drugs
Though he never stopped loving Maradona
It’s clear there’s room for only one junkie in my old man’s heart

And I realized that and much more
Don’t pass me smokes, man
In basics, I accept it, intercept a rum and fake mambo
I lost count of the numbers
On the street, there’s the material for what’s invented on paper

Since I was a kid, it’s been tough for me
Your rich, perfumed hip hop doesn’t identify me
With fear, say fuck if I report
I don’t know what the hell swag is but it sounds like shit

And how you wasted a 24/7, buddy
Before doing that nonsense, better do nothing
My kick clap guts my stomach, it swallows the track and if you don’t vibe with what I do, you don’t vibe with rap

You don’t vibe with rap

Nobody wants me, everyone hates me for writing like this
Nothing is real, everything’s a copy, original is N-Y

Drunk style
Here we go

Not even to rap do I let go of the glass, purebred rap
I stand up for the one with the stick, not for the one just passing by
I grab the mic, I don’t stop here and my crew gives me
To leave the rookie weak and give the old man a smack

There’s a stock of faces here
Behind the lyrics that after stumbling
Humiliate the gossiping grandmas
Who wouldn’t have reached rap without a social network
I wouldn’t have reached rap without stepping on the blocks of Ciudadela

I know it drives you crazy not to sound in these parts
We don’t tolerate idiot rap in my neighborhood
To be heard, I don’t act tough
I’m not a thug and I don’t speak Spanglish
Because Spanglish isn’t spoken in the hood

When am I the most likable rapper? Go ahead
But not always the most known is the best at it
And my crew knows it in this sea
Shit floats and the evil monsters show up from time to time

Some find it complex what I write on paper, who cares
I’m not gonna wait for penguins to fly
The blues chase me because I smoke weed
And because I proudly paint my crew’s name on walls

We don’t talk shit behind your back like you do
Brothers should be united
Heretics at odds with God
We kick the nest of those who complain
So warned in my clique, we’re all the same
Here there are no bosses or employees

I defend the sound of the nineties and the bar kids
Who throw empty bottles at the keyboard karateka
Who eat fancy and don’t know us linye
Because we’re not always connected, we’re on the corner

And what do they know about making rap?
They need to shut up

What do they know about going to work without sleeping for freestyling? For writing or, if not, rehearsing

No way would these flashes come out when I pay

They’re a bunch of ghost parrots
Inflating with the nigga, the brother, and the what-up just to feel more like rappers
Listen up, without help we’ll blow you away
We don’t have fans because we don’t represent fools

My style doesn’t fit them, my lyrics disgust them
I’m gonna sleep real chill even if I don’t have their likes, I’m traditional and stubborn
And the one responsible for the saying being wrong, all men have a price

I don’t want your praise
Or that of these monkeys who
Dance for money and not for love of the dance
Who charge a fee to go to a gig
Because they’re scared of the street
Or who knows what reason

We go to an event counting coins for the entrance and faking the bus
And I wish death on all your followers
Who idolize those who don’t even know what it means

I’m hardcore
And I don’t need to spit or yell at you
Just the poison in the heart is enough

You guys aren’t good and don’t even deserve the almost
Don’t ask me not to yawn when your shit happens
In this country, there aren’t as many good MCs as it seems
But there are a lot of fools who get impressed easily

You act like a super-rat and I see you badly
I know how that fool
Grew up, grew up, and that’s why I don’t believe him
He acts like he’s all that, but I don’t want to hear the word underground coming out of your mouth, prostitute

I learned in my neighborhood the style that hit
Make you bleed more than in a Tarantino

I’m not about the beat or hanging with felines
I’m about the pogo with the kids without spilling my wine

We arrive, the underground rises
We get into the game with our spikes on
I know we don’t have cutting-edge technology
But it sounds good enough to lift your bitch

I take everything down when I advance
Get out of the way or I’ll push you without honking first
This style is from the streets, you stop lying
Get lost with the nonsense and do hands for Michael Jackson

Raise your hands for Michael Jackson, bitch