Estilo Libre (feat. Big Daddy Kane y Vico C)

Yes, yes, yes

One, two, three like one, two, three
Like Rondi MC, in the place to be
I'm not at my peak, but on this beat, I
Sound more real than Madrid

Releasing the clip, here comes Billy The Kid
Shooting more fire than Miami Heats
If you can't dance, do like Bruce Lee and let yourself be carried away by the kick
This beat is like cocaine, it gets into your system through your nose

Even the haters have it on repeat
You can't stop eating it, like tortilla chips
I'm the gunpowder of the firecracker, I give two cups to the one who doesn't want broth
These bastards see me pass by and become more Christian than Ronaldo

I'm the killer that annihilates flowing through the pattern like tequila when it's spicy
My lines, they don't even see my pupils
And they get lost like boy scouts without a backpack
Freestyle like Holiday, with me gravity has no law

When my verse graffitis the whole highway
I'm the king spitting spray, I'm an MC in any format
My flow has spray paint on the shoes
And in a moment like a marital fight DJ Craze is going to break the dishes

The killer has arrived, ki-ki-killer, killer
Big-Big-Big Daddy Kane's about to come with it

Straight from them Brooklyn streets where they can see me at
Where it's never easy at, that's the borough we be at
Real hitters keep the strap for any type of beef or spat
Make your head tilt back like Adebisi hat

That's where we gon' leave you at, make 'em take a leaky nap
Any time that we attack, you don't want a piece of that
That thug mentality can be an aphrodisiac
But you're doing too much, homie, please relax

Don't make this animal damage you, and I will banish you
Handle you flammable like a match'll do a candle do
With words, I be a man of fuel
And if you plan to do any unamiable act anew

Against the intangible
You must be sniffing albino
Realize I'm a G, you just I Joe
Realize that's might, but not dyno'
Sommelier, not wino

Straight from them Brooklyn streets
Realize I'm a G
I rip the mic—, I rip the mic—, I rip the microphone and leave it scarred

Throw your hand to the sky, because I have a paella of sistic flow
If you throw reggaeton-pop, popcorn, eater, with this collaboration you crash
You showed your fangs, I put a notch
Low rank, you can't sue me

If you can't handle that camel, pass the bottle
So dizzy my pick-up runs you over
You with mystical lyrics and me with the analytical
Let's go home to check the statistics

You'll see what your rhythmic sexology leaves
And let's see if you can withstand the barrage of punches my critique
And boom, also, tell me who you are
Growling with Beretta and can't even hit kung-fu

Trucutú, that trick has been a long time piggy
You put it in the dark and I spread the light
Without using McGuire's little vaccine
I throw curves and not even the empire sees them
Arrow with fire

Let your helmet burn and you won't calm down even by taking half a pot of Bayer
Leanback, how I kill on the track
I'm the killer of the mata, matatrack
News killers, I eat them as snacks
Like 2Pac, I kill leagues from wayback

I killed in the street before crack was smoked in the street
Slaughterhouse in my area when I throw boombap
I kill on stage and ring-can like a maniac
I kill more offensively than a Shaq block

I kill with breezy philosophy, take it easy
You throw softer than a Missy
I walk you and you end up dizzy
With the real Big Daddy we're here very busy

I'm the mata-tan, matatrack
Slaughterhouse in my area when I throw boombap
I'm the mata-tan, matatrack
Slaughterhouse in my area when I throw boombap

I'm the mata-tan, matatrack
Slaughterhouse in my area when I throw boombap
When I throw—
When I-I-I throw
I-I-I-I-I throw boombap