Qué Oso

A tequila or holy water?
What do you need, a cure or a band-aid?
Shut up, visitors are coming
What a perfect family

What you don't have, you paint
Cover with a rug or blanket
The uncomfortable truth that itches you
If it's not your size or fit (amen)

I grew up with complexes
I don't ask for advice
Not for me or ego
But you don't even care about my funeral (skrr)

They told me I wouldn't go to mass anymore
Because I kissed a girl
And now—
And suddenly it goes away
The straightened hair, remember I used to be an altar girl

Where did the Catholicism go? Erotic thoughts
That priest has a tail to step on
Why judge so much, if it's so similar?
There's so much gossip to avoid

My mother is not a saint and I'm not stupid
Such nosy people, why does it matter so much?
She listens to gossip but is deaf to help

They called me ugly, a fatso
And they called me fat, an ugly one
They said: Tomboy, tom—
Even a poor ragpicker looked at me weird, but he's already in his forties

What a shame, well
What a shame
Oh, what a shame
Yeah, what a shame
I want my wallet to be full

Oh, grandma, sorry
If it were up to you, I wouldn't even have a good flight or plane
What a shame (what a shame)
What a shame

A tequila or holy water?
What do you need, a cure or a band-aid?
Shut up, visitors are coming
What a perfect family

A tequila or holy water?
What do you need, a cure or a band-aid?
Shut up, visitors are coming
What a perfect family

Mmm, oh, what a shame
The family, a bunch of gossips
With so much prayer and fuss
They can't get rid of the envious ones (yes)

To top it off, they do it all
They throw in a little, lying uncles
Between us, they're so jealous, they throw everything in
Even the mud comes out, get the Fabuloso

And let's clean up the dirt
Let's bring out the truths even if everyone sweats
I don't give a damn, my whole life they spoke ill of me and I didn't do anything to anyone
What a family I had

If I smoked marijuana
If my uncle does coke in the bathroom
They don't like who I go out with
You have another child in the neighborhood

Look, here neither saints nor whores
Not here nor there, there's no route here
And if you don't like it, don't be surprised
Look at Chile, the looks insult

From looks to looks, measure, why so high?
If there's a problem, I think the blow warns (ha)
There's no band-aid, heal, heal, little whore
If there is, criticize, but the dance can't be taken away

I want my wallet to be full
Oh, grandma, sorry (yeah, yeah, yeah)
If it were up to you, I wouldn't even have a good flight or plane
Look, here neither saints nor whores
Not here nor there, there's no route here
And if you don't like it, don't be surprised
Look at Chile, the looks insult

What the fuck?