SIRACUSA (feat. III Pekeño y Ergo Pro)

Yeah-eah, ah
Says
PMP is in the back

All the plates are loaded with caviar and truffle shavings
The floor's got heat and the tub's got bubbles
With views of a beach that looks like Syracuse
And a girl who thinks she's Nathy Pelusa

I came with these two, they're lowlifes, scum
The kind that deceive you and fool the industry
I hate to be like this, always making excuses
You and I are two planes crossing in the sky

Be careful, don’t get caught, it’s a witch hunt
I don’t want to see your pretty face behind bars
There are packages that bring magic but no owls here
Your crew thinks they’re El Chapo for pulling a couple of scams

Let them bark, they’re just gossipers
Let the streets talk, let the cars roar
The kicks from the USA, the roulette’s Russian
And my damn Andalusian, like La Cartuja

Christopher Nolan shit, suspense
Making movies with a dude who could be Denzel
Don’t even care about the price of diesel anymore
My name on Gran Vía or on a Renfe roll

Nowadays I look back, kicking ass
Selling kicks, shaking off a couple of leeches
I’m on fire and I’m not La Sole
That’s the shit
Let it sound like Neuman what I recorded in Rhode

I walk on tiles, if I see the blues, I keep my distance
My Maghreb friends are doing their prayers
Here we’re recognized by the way we walk
Or by the hair in the Radical era

I’m on the list, I feel like Zizou in the mixed zone
Why do these wannabes act like artists when they’re Amavisca?
We’re seafood, you’re marshmallow
A pleasure, Jorgero, to be on the track

I head down loaded for the mission straight from the cash
I come from the mud, where they stash the money but not in the bank
Where the kids all dream of the Phantom
Under those white buildings

After working your eight hours and then delivering
To have a ton of meetings with white guys
I don’t know how they throw beef and then throw so much
On Corredores street like Raúl and Marcos

We went from Boyz to Men
Now I’m doing great
Before I was struggling and you didn’t call me once
So hit the road, man, I don’t care about your Instagram follow

Then for the gig you ask me for the list, man
You’re a bad artist, I left you on read
At 18 I couldn’t afford a gun and now I’m rocking an 18k Jesus piece, man
Dry or extraction at every station
I swear, I press, then I exist, man

Rascals from the projects to downtown Madrid
Where I come from: the whores, the hustlers, the pimps, the con artists
Cibeles getting it on with Neptune

I’m my own boss, I don’t have a boss anymore
I’m always on the weekend, like
Vacationing with the old lady in Syracuse and a crib with ocean views
With these two crazies, I’ve got the gift

I’m still in this, always fresh, like
Cousin, you’re just a second-rate
In your squad, they’re the Santa Justa Clan
The scene’s blown up with undercover cops like Rafaella

It’s a shame, that kids are in the pure grind
From Caraban to the south zone, all to the sky like Aena
This goes out to Afro, Alejandro, and Cool
Who the hell are you, mamañema?

To hell with that disguise, never a snitch, never a questioner
Like, you’re Pepe Reina, I’m Buffon
I do the missions with a phone
You’re a snitch, you’re a big mouth
It’s not the same to be a show-off
Than to act smart but be a total fool

Mami let it go, the credit’s all mine
From being all broke to cashing in like that doctor
I tell my bro to trust the plan and not
Get carried away by those plastic bags

We’re the pearl and the clam, the new blood and the old
All these rappers are my kids, mami, I feel like a rabbit
We’re the pearl and the clam, the honey and the bee
Beans and lentils, you take it or leave it.