Hoja Sin Titulo

Say: What? Again
Say: What? Again
I dare you
I double dare you, motherfucker
Say: What? One more goddamn time
What?
What?
What?
Hey, what’s up?
Oblivion in this bitch
Yeah, son of a bitch

Batteries booming like a nuclear explosion
Headphones on, and tobacco’s the lotion
I’m rocking Retro Ones among a thousand Croydon shoes
We met rap, going against the code
Out of the ordinary, motherfuckers from another world
My conscience sank deep in hip-hop’s core
Panic spreads 'cause there’s few like me, I don’t abound
I roll with my crew, cruising through New Macondo
Medallo, man
No gold medals, no silver to give the crew bronze chains
Screeching on the hills, making the bull charge
And statues on every corner of saints I no longer adore
Floating on the sidewalk, not checking the time
And between adobe walls that [?]
I come out unscathed from highways and checkpoints
A sentence won’t condemn me, I won’t be condemned
Hold on to your seat when I’m driving
I drift through curves that no one made it out of
Straight on the beat at two hundred bars per hour
And the streetlight’s shining down on my hood
Don’t look for what I do
I’m a fugitive, my rapping among the homies
Addictive flow, motherfucker
What’s the problem? (What?) What’s the deal?
I’m not planning my retreat, not even after I retire
Hey-yo, all the mouths shut when I shout: One check!
The box isn’t pressed by the grave or the INPEC
I got the techniques from [?]
Broke as hell, no chains on my neck, yeah
King without an empire, no crown and not too serious
Singing in alleys like a cat in a graveyard
With a black eye and cigarettes for a snack
He threw up the blessing to burn down a monastery, hold on

Legendary shit that you don’t hear anymore
And those who know it scream it loud in the shower
I’m filling the piggy bank while outside there’s a lot of struggle
Kid, listen closely how the saw cuts
No cunning, if it’s to lie, people don’t see my charm
If it’s to rap, they’ll hear me even in Venice
I’m like the drug that the junkie gets hooked on
I’m like the music sung with rage, with anger and greed
With a hunger for lyrics that don’t ease the laziness
Bring the beer 'cause my style weighs me down
'Cause on a complex beat, simplicity hits harder
The girls don’t kiss me if I’m kissing the bass
That makes me dance and doesn’t let me fall behind
I don’t usually exaggerate or let things slide
I won’t sell out at a bazaar, not even if a goddess danced for me
I break free without a vehicle, far from your circle
Due to a calculation error, I didn’t hang myself from the belt
The anthems of many were leaves without titles
Written by crazies from outside the cubicle

What’s up, motherfucker?
[Instrumental]
Does he look like a bitch?
What?