Querido Louis

So you don't feel ignored
Since there's no paper
I write without haste
Sitting on the toilet

Here from the bathroom
I'm throwing shots at a stranger
Who took over a year
To write me a song

I'm not to blame
That you're unemployed, tired
With a frustrated Wu-Tang Clan face

I'm confused, with this girl
One moment she pushes me away and in the next
She unzips my pants and gives me head
When Residente raps, he spits fire
Real, no melodramas
Just with the beat he fucks you without a bed

I have a reputation for making them run in pajamas
I'm the nightmare that spits over the pentagram

And you, mm, there's no discussion
You know your rap was shit when Rapetón supported you
Another rapper seeking attention
Who wants to join the conversation without an invitation

Looking for the champion's belt, he found King Kong
Because rapping, I'm Bruce Lee, without being born in Hong Kong
Purebred Boricua, I only put in half a pill
My lyrics climb on the beat, and make you vomit arepas

Where I come from is where the breed was born
My rhymes are mathematical and you don't get the geometry
You say I'm not the best in Puerto Rico
If I'm not the best at this, then
Why didn't you diss Vico

Against all odds
I put the Simón Bolívar Orchestra
With the Venezuelan flag
Hung on my chest
Singing Latin America
With my head held high
What you, never in your damn life
Have done for your country

Blaming others, you need to wash your mouth with shampoo
Between you and me, you voted for Chávez
Disrespecting Marigabia, my ex-wife, my son
When I see you, I'll hit you hard, I swear on my crucifix

Pay attention
I have the capacity to understand
I have Chavista friends
From the center and the opposition
But you're a tongue-wagger
Who thinks he's a rapper
Waiting for a foreigner
To defend your country first

A rapper who's against abortion, my buddy
Let someone rape your sister, and have to give birth tomorrow
Against homosexuality, an old man full of complexes
Go with your moralism and make rap for idiots

You don't belong in this league
Don't ask me to follow your lyrics
I keep eating MCs
Even when my belly is full
What's the point of your hip-hop and your culture
When a rocker who listened to Sepultura

Rapping tortures you
My rap is top-notch
My stances are political
I throw literature
And to make them move their waist

Don't act all serious all of a sudden
You also danced to 'Atrévete' when you were a teenager
A fan dissing his idol, must be sad
All the songs Sony distributes for me, you learned them

The rapper who didn't understand any of my lyrics
But knows them all by heart
And claims to be a prophet

What irony
That he couldn't predict his own prophecy
Of the ass-kicking
That Residente would give him

You're a clown
You mentioned my name 3 times in your crap song
Because otherwise, no one would pay attention

I fill arenas around the world while drinking beer from a mug
And you, with all this beef, can't even fill a bar
And I say it a hundred times so it's heard in the North Pole
On October 19th in Mexico, at the Palacio de los Deportes

They say that dissing you resurrected you and your career grew
But, how can you resurrect something that never existed?
The rap scene isn't for amateurs, understand
You're a rapper who sampled Franco De Vita

You're a green pepper pretending to be a poblano chili
You're the shame of Venezuelan rap
Talking about an own goal, own goal, salami face
It's like dissing someone who lives abroad, when you live in Miami

I don't live in one place, I travel the 7 seas
Busy artists live in different places
But my people are in Brooklyn running their little house
And whenever you want, they can pay you a visit

Brian, El Duty, Alexis, my brothers
From Troman to Wilo, my Puerto Rican and Dominican neighborhoods
But I won't keep responding to all your nonsense
All your questions are already answered in La Cátedra

Now I'll tell you my side, so next time be careful
Before dissing a Puerto Rican, you have to be prepared
I come from Trujillo, where the force is with me
In Puerto Rico, even if you're from the city, you're from the mountain

We were hit by two hurricanes
They threw toilet paper at our self-esteem
For years my country has been bankrupt
They left us without water and power for almost a year, idiot

Things are tough in my country
They tried to hide the death of over 5 thousand people
There you don't last a second
We're the country with the most violent deaths
By firearms per capita in the world
Another country decides the future of our people for us
And we still can't vote for a fucking president

We're children of the pastor
Who deceived his flock
Son of a bitch, we've been a colony
For over 100 years

You have few reasons to criticize me
Because neither you nor any Venezuelan artist
Has spoken up for us
And you're a populist campaigning
Talking about being a son of the sugarcane field and the machete
And you've never cut sugar cane

I said it before, I'm not a communist, socialist
You and the yellow press can suck it
I'm independentist
And all I ask is to be independent, like your country
Or like the United States

One anthem, one flag, not from abroad
To make our own decisions without a babysitter

Dumbass
Speaking clearly with yolk
I know it burns you
But your country isn't the only one with problems

We live in a fucked up world, no animal reasoning
Where rappers like you, to get ahead, steal intellectual property
For this reason, I'm going to charge you royalties, sir
And I'll donate them to the Canserbero Foundation

My respects to Tyrone's sisters out there
Maria Del Carmen, Jackeline, and Sarai
Respect to the old and new school in your country
Apache, Lil Supa, Gegga, Akapellah
Mitches Juan, Dan Nigga, Randy, Acosta
At all costs, spitting real, telling the truth

But you don't reach that circle, not even their ankles
Better go make music with Louis, Pinocchio, and Jiminy Cricket
Rhyming just to rhyme, words from the whole dictionary
I'm supposed to do the chorus, but

I'm not doing the chorus, I keep going like a parrot
I only see red like the bulls
After they saw how I devoured them
Under the toilet chain
When the sound runs through the pores
The temperature worsens, I evaporate them
I also pierce them
I go through the skies like a meteor

It's simple
I pocket this small cup in a pocket
I was born with my tongue as a trigger
In my mouth I have a knife
I was raised in Trujillo, I never kneel
Not even to give away a ring
You messed with a crazy guy with loose screws

I nail you without using a hammer
See how all my fangs rhyme against your crew
I pass you the rake, my lyrics hit with all knuckles
A garlic sandwich, folding ankles
You're right, when they diss me to shine
I educate and humiliate them

I'm still hungry and there are no rappers in sight
And in the instrumental, the piano never played because I ate the pianist
And even though I'm a lyricist, now I have to go to the damn dentist
Because between my teeth I have the pieces of this track

And I get creative, with adjectives
When I write, without a stirrup, I run free, like a holiday
I'm just a rapper, and this lightweight
I kick their asses
Without finishing the verse

You're not a rapper, the hat is too big for you
I'd rather be number zero, because I go before the first
Favorite without Billboard and without a sign
Because I still rap, like when I had no money

Fire
Fuck Trump
Fire
(Fuck Trump)
(Fire)
(Fuck Trump)
(Fire)
(Fuck Trump)
(Fire)