En El Punto De Mira (con Arma Blanca)

White Weapon and Nach, 2003, Spain spreads its legs before us, you better load your microphone with bullets

Between liters and bases, and mics and lines, you'll see four aces shooting between the flashes, it's White Weapon and NS, your rifles against our speakers, it's White Weapon and NS, when you talk about classy MCs. [x2]

Today my bitter days are sweet when I step out, my rap seduces you in the lights and unloads on you, I don't know if I woke up from my lethargy, but I know I'm worth it because the crowd screams: 'sing something', being judged just for who I hang out with is not a compliment, I wreak havoc, you talk high and drunk, from intros to outros I'll be a star, you'll follow my trail like Armstrong, and your label will suffer an embargo like Kastro, because your rap won't cover the expenses, because MCs don't have the voice or the boobs of Toni Braxton, contract breaches are acts of cheap labels, this won't raise your status with your DJ in front of the cameras, you no longer appear on TV or stages, you're the necessary dish that rookies talk about with ungrateful treatment, 'he no longer gets inspired and snorts coke killing his sense of smell', brat, my song is sulfate killing through your device, I rescue data and debate what is generated out there, in this era magazines, third-rate magazines operate screwing your career, nothing to do with AB with any MC, they've been describing the sidewalks for ten springs, fame is ephemeral, your criticisms feed on it, without my raw material in your discman my life is typical, among many, among smiles and tears, in my room, I only bring an impact in this compact to give you a preview...

That's how I behave, I never cared to leave those fools with short thoughts, knowing that I only allow myself successes, you see my moves with magnifying glasses, I warn you that you're following me, that you control my actions, that you study my texts and invent defects, the perfect one speaks, my rhyme remains intact, exact, your minds are kidnapped, maybe it's a cult, maybe he injects himself, maybe he's gay, maybe fame affects him and he thinks he's the king, today I'm seen and unseen, I insist I'm not trying to be smart, I'm not above the law, I'm hopeless, I'm like old age, seeking wisdom this fish bites its tail, and once again the frustrated artist has changed his concept, and of course has become a judge, stupidity dances in their heads with lice, they proclaim what they don't know at will, so when I appear you start speaking softly, avoiding my reflection and looking askance? I'm in the crosshairs, shoot me if you want, raise your finger and point me out if you see me, they investigate like the Kremlin everything I say, I belong to the high standing of rap with suicidal instinct

It's my life to be in your 'crosshairs', so much that I've come to think that the world revolves around me, there are many people who breathe to see what this being of difficult character to understand aspires to, it's knowing what they'll say if I don't meet their expectations, and I'm not like that relative image they have of me, (obsessive mania,) for wanting more from an MC whose job is to take down any rival with saliva, and you don't avoid the center of your ocular sense, yours is to emulate the tabloids, look for a headline, in a unique way, speculate, mine is to inject, in each earpiece venom of tarantulas. I don't let myself be manipulated while your thinking pendulates, as I see you wandering under one dome or another, by having a circular trajectory you undermine mine, who do you think you are to stipulate for my companies? I found the formula in grids that I bring here, so chill or you'll end up like the Yankees in Saigon, it's mandatory to touch your belly and talk shit at the same time, you're sand in the desert, you got lost in the tempo, I invest lines today to mess you up, but I didn't come to spread your remains on this ring, only one purpose brought me here, to shit on the labels? No, it's to provoke a neck swing without them like Juaninacka.

Between liters and bases, and mics and lines, you'll see four aces shooting between the flashes, it's White Weapon and NS, your rifles against our speakers, it's White Weapon and NS, when you talk about classy MCs. [x2]