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Hey, this is Residente
This is easy
But you see, I'm on tour
Working, I'm with the family
These bastards make me waste time, really
But I'm going to enjoy it
I'm going to enjoy this shit, really
Hey
Trooko
If you hit the beehive, the hive gets stirred up
With me, there's no break, not even with a full base in the ninth
Your hip-hop culture is pitiful
You talk to me about movies and you're the one who never leaves the scene
A rapper outside the ecosystem
You don't want fame, then
Why do you put my name in the song?
I don't do it for fame
Throwing at you is like trying to hang from a tree without a branch
Asshole, if nobody knows you
Batting rhyme, I'm the 21 and you're the opposite, you're the 12
This square rapper without art wants me to frame him
At 101, I just put the bat and hit it out of the park
I broke the rule and I know it disturbs you
What good is the fastball if you can't throw curves?
You threw your dad and in retaliation
He'll give you pasta and cheese and we're not in Italy
So put on your sandals
I'm going to feed you more than what UNICEF has fed Somalia
This fish has no guts
It's freshwater and wants to swim at the beach
You can't even win a battle at home
You don't measure up even to bring me water and a towel
You don't have a medal, another idiot who hits the wall
Residente never fails, not even with a hundred meters of hurdles
So many heads hadn't rolled since the Mayan culture
The swamp zombies prevail
They want to shine but when the light hits them, they decompose
My lyrics motivate them
I'm going for the Nobel Prize in alternative medicine
When Residente throws
He revives more dead than Doctors Without Borders
Not even Dancing with the Stars revived so many careers
I win anyway
It's like Messi and Cristiano rapping in Spanish
My career travels after it rises up there
It's like a clogged toilet; this shit doesn't go down
My flow goes up and down like a hydraulic from the hood
Manolo, the beats don't control me, I control them
I play with both poles
The beat's kick either obeys me or I violate it
There's no protocol for flowing while rapping
Tell that to Buddy Rich when he's on the drums doing a solo
I leave the track, get distracted in the air
But in the fourth quarter, I come back and fall
And you're too structured
Tupac's dick has you crossed a thousand times over
Precisely imitating those who did different things
Doesn't make you different, doesn't make you more real
It makes you a copy of a copy
Like a photocopy without its own identity
I come from everyone's respect
Who the hell, idiot?
From Alice in Wonderland and the Rabbit?
The only respect you have left
Is from the four scratchers who were going to see you at Café Cedan
The respect you have is just as imaginary
As a tour full of concerts on your calendar
Zero, understand, zero
I'm not married to hip-hop, I'm single
I'm not a hip-hop artist, but I'll fuck this rapper
With affection, as if it were February 14
Throwing at you is like scoring without a goalkeeper
He thinks he's the captain of the ship and the bastard is a sailor
Your achievements, fighting with TNT in a battle
And getting your ass kicked by a rapper named Frescolate
But throwing at me might work for you
I make you famous by fucking you and I don't charge a percentage
I understand you, I'm on tour next year in Indonesia
And you in Texas scratching your ass in church
My dear, I console you
After this, if you want, I'll take you to La Perla to distribute ice
I'm like an incomplete challenge for this guy
A skeleton rhyming his obsolete pamphlet
A lot of hip-hop scene, but it gets lost if I take away the script
A featherweight measuring himself against a heavyweight
I have the alphabet as a son, as a grandson
Not even the devil can handle me, ask Barreto
Why do I want the respect of the cypher guys on the corner
If I have the respect of Silvio, Blades, Serrat, and Sabina?
With the rhyme, this sack of flour dominates it
Residente combines it even with his elbows
Filipino speed, I'm Pacquiao on cocaine
I'm so badass at rapping that they want to drug test me
And your career doesn't even skate with wheels
Yours doesn't walk even up a hill covered in vaseline
The dumbest of the roosters turned out to be a hen
He showed his wings, nobody run, it's a sardine!
He acts tough in the booth
I talked to Navaja; they don't know you in Trujillo or Carolina
From Texas, anyone can shout
If you want, I'll set up a date with Isra in Villa Margarita
Motherfucker, you were an MC who never made it
You tried to sell your stuff, but nobody bought it
Your quality control doesn't connect with people
With a bucket of water, you can't even make electricity
You don't shine even with fluorescent clothes
Your music doesn't leave the island even with a fucking bridge
You're not from Levittown, liar
You're from Temple, Texas, Hillside, don't get nervous
He wants to act tough
You're a Landscaping manager with a bunch of rednecks, be proud
Hiring immigrants, paying them peanuts
You sold yourself to a landscaping company
You opened your ass subtly
While I cum, grab the trimmer and shave my ass hair
Nach didn't call you, ow, I got a knot
I'm going to ask him to send you a video greeting via WhatsApp
Calm down, drink water, breathe
Stop looking on Instagram at the stadiums full of my tour
And get rid of it, have a rum to drown your sorrows
Watch good series on Netflix
While you smell your balls
Don't search Residente in the search
Because my documentary comes up and you get nervous again
When the success of others intensely annoys you
In any neighborhood in the world, we call it Envy
It gives you chest pain
That someone else does what you always wanted to do and still haven't done
And if I stole Victor's flow and writing style
Why is he still teaching painting classes?
My strength must be supernatural
Because a copy is not supposed to surpass the original
And his buddy the fat guy didn't sell himself as a rapper
But ended up selling his ass at 7-Eleven as a cashier
Your arguments have more holes
Than a cop shot by the cartel with all his gunmen
The ass you say I sold, to your dismay
Is the same one your wife moved dancing the sausage sandwich
Remember at the convention center? And I reaffirm
If you still have the photo, I'll sign it for you
One thing is selling out and another is having a strategy
To reach the upper class, the lower class, and the middle class
I confused the music industry
Before Atrévete, I broke through with Querido FBI
I break the usual formats
I make one for dancing and another for moving the brain
I go to award shows even if they're fake
So that Latin America is heard by Shakira's audience
The industry hasn't stopped me
You have a guy fighting for the country's independence dominating the market
I exploded since I came out
I'm the one who told the governor to go fuck himself at the MTV awards
I was threatened around there, I was shot, I didn't die
Is everything I risked what you say I sold?
Let me see, I didn't understand, clown
It's not that you didn't sell out, it's that nobody paid attention to you
And without risking with your silent strategy
From your bed, you criticize those who are doing things
All the musicians you admire
Had to struggle
To release albums and go on tour
What you and your four fans think doesn't interest me
After I can keep bringing food to the table
I only answer to educate you and ask you, charlatan
Where the hell were you when the hurricane came?
If you're so real with the rhyme
How many social movements do you estimate you've taken to the stage?
You're like a four-year-old baby, all angry
Doesn't want me to enter his little club of forgotten rappers
I don't care about anything, now I continue with the past
You're nothing, you weren't anything
You're still nothing, I'm battling with nothing
My tongue is still accelerated, wet, excited
Because I'm left with a hard-on
It's already red from so much going in and out
I left the track tied up, lying in bed
Legs stretched out, already pregnant without coming inside
After writing and exhausting the ink
Rappers throw at me who want to test themselves with the pen
And they don't understand that I'm the bull and also the bullfighter
I'm an engineer breaking asses worldwide without touching the board
From half-court, I keep burning the rim
Now that I'm old, I got into abusing these idiots
I leave them deep inside
I drive without brakes, rapping fast like rabbits fuck
They throw at me but it's uneven, I don't resemble, I distance
They walk in fear, in a line sideways like crabs; I weave a web
When I entangle them in the rhyme, I take away their legs, I skin them
These mortals haven't realized that I don't reflect in mirrors
My tongue is lunatic like a young man from a reformatory, problematic
When it shoots grammar, it's like a semi-automatic
That doesn't run out of air because it's not asthmatic
Even underwater, it breathes
It's aquatic doing acrobatic turns like an Asian Olympic gymnast
It's not diplomatic with the hip-hop fanatic fans who think they're professors
Informatics style
I give them goosebumps even without static
Many wounded want to make noise
But they don't sound if I don't give them a little sound
I'm bored of battling with strangers
And the child support wants me detained
For not having supported these so-called rappers
They're my lost children
Trooko
Hey, I'm really bored
Super bored, I'm going to my house for real to watch Netflix
You keep cutting grass, doing landscaping, it's going to be tough for you
Stay there in Texas
Hillside at home
Hillside
I'm going to call you, asshole, so you can cut the grass at home
It'll be tough for you, water the flowers
Oh no, that's right, you're the manager, you don't mow the grass, you hire
Fucking sold out, asshole
In Texas with a bunch of rednecks
Damn, I'm going to bring Christmas to your house
I'm going to use your best punchlines, go
A bomb
Mulatto, take out your brunette
So you can dance bomba
Puerto Rican bomba, bomba!
I have one, I have one
That not for fame, nor money
Much less looking for a spot
Just to heal, cardboard macaw
Bomba!
The bomb, oh how delicious it is, is, is
It raises the rhythm through the feet, through the feet
Mulatto, take out your brunette, so you can dance bomba
Puerto Rican bomba, bomba!
I have one, I have one
What's wrong pumpkin?
Change your raisin face already
Pass the mic and go home because you don't fit here
Bomba!
The bomb, oh how delicious it is, is, is
It raises the rhythm through the feet, through the feet
Mulatto, take out your brunette, so you can dance bomba
Puerto Rican bomba, bomba!
I have one, I have one, wait
With your bubble rhyme
We're making gargle
Before Halloween, we take off your mask
Bomba!
The bomb, oh how delicious it is, is, is
It raises the rhythm through the feet, through the feet
Mulatto, take out your brunette, so you can dance bomba
Puerto Rican bomba, bomba!
I have a good one, I have a good one
There are two or three that don't flatter you
And that shit works you
Scratch and scratch
Until you get sores
You don't know anything, you don't know anything
You don't know anything about bomba, you don't know anything
As they say!
You don't know anything, you don't know anything, smellbitch!
You don't know anything about bomba, you don't know anything
Seed juice
You got it, man?
Dury, Dury wants to sing now
Pa pa pa pa
It was tough, it was tough
Perfect, man, this is it, diss