El Último Golpe

Alfred: I saw a kid playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine
The bandit was throwing them around
Wayne: And why was he stealing them?
Alfred: Oh, just because
Because some people don’t look for something logical, like money
You can’t buy them, scare them, or reason with them
Some people just want to see the world burn

We made it political, but also beautiful
My listeners stop evictions and your groupies sell crypto
Twenty years undefeated, insurgents, juggling
I’m a fucking reference and you’re famous, we’re not the same
We were never thugs, it was never about the money
The first bars with Parnaso, nursery track
A welder, a glassmaker
Straight from the scaffolding to travel the whole world
You became a reggaeton artist because you weren’t selling
I don’t give a damn
I compete against rappers, not against wannabes
Terminator mode, look at how I dance
I drink more than Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor
I indulge, savoring victory, we made history
Stones in the path and look, twenty years of glory
The Ferris wheel keeps spinning, I’m still going from plaza to plaza
I didn’t aim for the mainstream, I aim to be a threat
Talking about cash, seriously?
Who the hell do you think I am?
The TFK, the kings, from Patraix to Barona
València, south of the zone, respect your elders
We blew up train cars, you were changing diapers
Lights and signals, bangers, not trash
I know it pisses you off, we filled the Wizink without signing with the majors
We conquered tomorrow
The industry shut us out and we jumped out the window

The last blow
The last blow
Little tunes of Basque origin
History has absolved us like Fidel Castro

I write for pleasure, not to please you
It’s about rebirth, silence is my death
And the page is freedom, it’s a friend, it was a refuge
When in high school bullying was routine
Rap came into my life like a safe conduct
That’s why I don’t care what you say about my crew
Nor do I worry if rappers don’t respect us
If in every port I have a bed and a plate of stew
And people I care about, you brag about money
About flow, a lot of ego, I see insecurity
I refuse to put my figure before the art
Here we kill the author like Roland Barthes
Children of the cursed city
Where many bands were born despite Rita
Where we did the work of ants
And today your weird neighbor is in your favorite band
Shout: We are children of the south
Where the landscape was roofs of asbestos and the buzz
That there were no exits in the neighborhood
But some of us dreamed, drawing alternatives
Look, I’m tired of goodbyes
I’ll live in the memory of the people
Breathe, we’ll see each other in another life
The mazorka is dead
The mazorka is forever

The last blow
The last blow
Little tunes of Basque origin
History has absolved us like Fidel Castro

In politics, there are causes and men come and go, and women too, we all pass
Some causes survive and need to transform
And the only constant is change
And I want to convey to the youth
We must be grateful for life, succeeding in life isn’t winning
Succeeding in life is getting up and starting over every time you fall
Thank you