Rap Bruto (part. Nach)

My school has soul and boards
He wears old sweatshirts, dirty Nikes, and a long beard
He doesn't need effects to embellish what he says
He raps whatever he sees, he shoots you in two words
I started rapping simply, with a sample and temper
A teenager's hobby lasts forever
A pro since he was 15, and he doesn't give up, understand
Who puts his songs on sale but doesn't sell
Chronic insolent who uses spit bullets
My school was never trendy but it's still alive
We have initiative, perspective
If something doesn't motivate us
We put the middle finger up
I'm talking about my team, those guys who take your breath away
Myths that launch each writing into infinity
Others acting crazy and me keeping my mouth shut
Closer to Kase than Jay-Z, if I'm making myself clear
I have my clan following a plan to earn their bread
I have my fans looking for peace, they will find it in me
So many charlatans with no other desire than fame
I trophy the lazy person like a croissant when I see him, it's easy
Your music is childish and useless, mine is tactile
There will be no white flag on this mast
I know the Nazi-like and hostile rapper is fragile
I mix my mind with TNT, and something like this comes out so agile
And like dolphins, their ends do not define me
You don't have it if you don't live it, don't give your opinion, don't underestimate this name
After a sublime rhyme, it's something enormous, tell me
How many clumsy people I struck down next to his melody
I let them rhyme, I see them swell and prick
There are many targets for my arrow
They think about their piggy bank and not about the fight
They go without a torch, without a wick
They are thrown out early, because they are soon past their expiration date
I am a man of my word, don't talk to me about numbers
Your dry songs, my wet phrasings
Sincere, without buts, without truces
Without mincing words the tongue that licks you
My shit is as serious as a stroke
Come, I'll electrocute you and enjoy it
There is no substitute if I spit
Eight minutes of absolute raw rap
I don't mind if I'm not playing on the radio
I dream in neighborhoods
My men have balls
My females lay ovaries
But there are ends that imitate
They irritate me, they are looking for visitors and money
They scream and shout, they get excited
Then without further ado they wither away
My music is dynamite
He decapitates them, takes away their ego
Then it is normal that they resign
I arrive, I hurt them, I am pure poison
When I get faster I get into their game, I sink them
I'm like ice, I freeze your jealousy
They suffer from money, it knocks them down
I chain them, I throw my thunder at them
Without brakes, sound and rumble, so resounding
I only want true warriors saving my world

Lots of jungle, few tigers
A lot of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente

Lots of jungle, few tigers
A lot of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente

I, I, I don't have school
Without the wind blowing I learned to sail sailboats
My rhyme on top of a cumbia still has an impact
I don't follow any school because I am self-taught
I never played by the rules with generic rap tracks
With a Peruvian drawer I wrote Latin America
My rap doesn't follow any sergeant's orders
Son of a bitch, I created my own movement
That narrates and without claws tears you apart
I didn't grow up listening to 2pac, I grew up with Violeta Parra
And when I spell, I teach them without a blackboard
With just two bars I rock them without a guitar
I don't believe in rap gods, much less in kings
I am fucking gravity defying the laws
I am the order but when it gets messed up
All my lines are curved, I always break the rules
Lying under the shade of a palm tree, relaxed
Competing against myself because I have no one on my side
I like to abuse strawberry rappers
I leave the R printed on the buttocks
Before I down that beer
I easily torture them alone
I take away their Instagram and they become insecure again
I don't think your fashion will last
The fifteen-year-olds who follow you today
They will no longer follow you when they mature
Lots of selfies and little content
They spend more time in the dressing room than doing sound checks
Their concerts are all the same
Few rhymes, little band, lots of fireworks
They don't escape me when I write
They are easy to identify because they dress in bright colors
I've never seen the faces of these little rappers
I always see them from behind
When I put them on 4 and lift their skirts
And I fuck them in both holes
Without support the streams, in the Creole style
I turn them into chicken broth
The police are looking for me for sexual harassment
And because I'm perverse, like Kase O: I'm a rapist of verse
And I score, because I kick with both legs
In freestyle from the free throw the dunk
And without beating around the bush, when I get angry, with my chatter
I make even the Hebrews speak Arabic
Sometimes I type so fast that I can't see the alphabet
I slap the criminals
Like a novel about an unemployed grandmother
My tongue performs acrobatics never seen before
He is a juggler, a real artist
And how Michael Jackson moonwalks on the dance floor
No one can resist the resident
When I get them hot, I literally put them on their knees
Like believers in the Middle East
Kneel and pray, I'm a Taliban, rhyming short head
With my skill I take out their hearts with my mouth and put them on the table
On top of bread and hamburger
With mayonnaise and Japanese sauce
And a little strawberry juice
I eat them for breakfast, my tongue never stumbles
When caught, it passes through them with nature
My word search begins, open the dam, the piece has arrived
What's missing from the puzzle?

Lots of jungle, few tigers
A lot of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente

Lots of jungle, few tigers
Lots of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente