El Primer Asalto, La Patrulla Estilo (con sfdk y nerviozzo)

It's war, the supervillains rebel. The style patrol is going to win, they unite their forces.
The bastard Zatu throws lumps of dirt at him, and I collect MC's, I have them stored in jars. So start opening up and hitting the road.
I'm the fruit of the tree of three seeds; I'm high, I don't feel a thing from my waist to my knees. Today I speak with the Z, today I was born in Sevilla.

Look, shitty bastards tell lies. I'm fed up with this, I'm living a nightmare. A dick. Are there no rap joints? And they open just one damn club, and you don't even go. I'm sorry, but I told you it would be clear. The movement is sinking because of four assholes. In Fuenlabrada, I live comfortably in my house. Days and nights go by, and I'm still stuck in my bed. I waste time when I'm smoking,
representing and giving true hardcore with Nacho. Good shit in Alicante lines, the MC who came out of nowhere and is now the envy.

And now it's Nerviozzo's turn here, and with this I show that classes still exist. The style patrol stays; Nach Scratch, Zatu want to fuck up the microphone, of course. Buya, here comes the patrol. Yours is the defeat, the insulted sons of bitches arrive. Buya here comes the patrol.
The Poem Man trains so that no fucking destroys him. Buya, here comes the patrol. Spread your legs, overthrow my microphone, it's all yours. Buya, here comes the patrol. Man Theme, Man Poem and Man Dirt here in the rhyme flow.

I come out of the glowing fire, I point at you, I'm coming for you. From behind the black color, I appear; Nach Scratch is the MC, spitting words and verses with immense powers. Do you think you can stop them?. Pay attention to this, I turn rhymes like swords the fencing masters. I enter cities, turn them into damn ruins. The weather changes, the rain now falls and burns. You look at the sky, is it a bird?, a plane? It's the Poem Man, accompanied by other heroes in this shit.

The Dirt Man on my right, the Theme Man is on my left. Remember the name, 'The style patrol', exposing the world upside down. More wanted in rap than for the money, Antonio Anglés. You see it, 3, 2, 1, you say you reach my height and you look like Torre Bruno. The villains of this world have really been able to deal with me, MC's know me from Ceuta to Vigo. And I continue, and I don't plan to stop. One poem after another, and you will never get tired. This is art, they listen to it even on Mars. The Martians say: 'Damn, how these human beings rhyme'. We are alive, we don't die, because we are rap superheroes. Yours, the patrol has arrived in your city. Slip away if you can, if not, call for an SOS. I'm Nach Scratch.

Buya, here comes the patrol. Yours is the defeat, the insulted sons of bitches arrive. Buya here comes the patrol. The Poem Man trains so that no fucking destroys him. Buya, here comes the patrol. Spread your legs, overthrow my microphone, it's all yours. Buya, here comes the patrol. Man Theme, Man Poem and Man Dirt here in the rhyme flow.

The brute arrives, knocking down MC's dressed in mourning. I electrocute, there are no more rules of literature, I have left the tutorial. Now you fill the quota in party rooms. The style patrol; alert. Wake up, you go to the deck because there's a storm. Keep the hatch open if you want. Leave the door open, don't fear the fight, because if the ship sinks, SFDK floats. Touch my balls and open your big head.

Mom, buy another one because this one is already broken from listening to the rhyme that floats from the mouth in the form of a bazooka of the MC that hits your mouth. And like a masochist, you ask for another, and it's because I'm like the drug, always winning. I bite the mic like a marmot, my clothes are not brand name, but I don't give a damn about the Yankees dancing shit in the Defeat Room. My hoarse voice looks at what I call the child's culture,
exhibition of graffiti very early.

And the rappers arrive walking like ducks, with a liter in hand. You've seen too many Tintin videos, rookie. At that time, what you really want is a good ham toast in chunks. Triple superheroes have arrived, baby. Dirt Man, Theme Man, and Poem Man always ahead, blocking your arrogant face. Don't paint me, I know you lie. I'm going to break your teeth like contact lenses.

I have tact, I have a pact with rhyme. I pamper it, it pampers me on stage, and we go together to the top, and you're screwed. My cell measures 19 x 15, the paper on which I write and polish you. Screw you, tough guy, you're worthless. I'm breaking down the wall, shooting like a mule. I grab your lyrics, roll them up and smoke them. I squeeze your brain and make juice, idiot.

Buya, here comes the patrol. Yours is the defeat, the insulted sons of bitches arrive. Buya here comes the patrol. The Poem Man trains so that no fucking destroys him. Buya, here comes the patrol. Spread your legs, overthrow my microphone, it's all yours. Buya, here comes the patrol. Man Theme, Man Poem and Man Dirt here in the rhyme flow. Buya, here comes the patrol. Yours is the defeat, the insulted sons of bitches arrive. Buya here comes the patrol. The Poem Man trains so that no fucking destroys him. Buya, here comes the patrol. Spread your legs, overthrow my microphone, it's all yours. Buya, here comes the patrol. Man Theme, Man Poem and Man Dirt here in the rhyme flow.