Ya Está
Tote King
It's Done
Never dropped a beat that sounded this good,
I was the baby of Nirvana, hit the jackpot, dude,
Since I was a kid, I’d open the window, kisses would rain,
You had to drug the girls just to get laid, what a shame.
Come on, I’m living on the edge, I’m the Tote,
I’ll take you out like old coins, give you life like a whole lot,
Barceló, what, they coming to mess with me? Where?
I don’t think so, Diego’s waiting up in the mountains, beware.
Your girls in the mirror are worried: what should I wear?
Mine just ask: what’s better, fucking or a snack, who cares?
I know, not much doubt, not much faith,
We went to Chile to play in the end and took out Pinochet.
Got 300 girls on my MySpace, oh yeah!
Most of them still in school, oh dear,
If my mind betrays me, what can I expect from you?
Common places and plans, same old, same old crew.
[Chorus]
It’s done, just drop it, respect yourself, come on, stop,
Enough, let that beastly envy go, just wrap it up!
Fucks of the present, little kids of the past,
I grab the mic, haha! Another rapper out of work, alas.
How many awards do I have on my bed? ZERO!
What comes out of my mouth when I rhyme? FIRE!
What do I care what they think on the radio? NOTHING!
Tote’s recording an album, when’s it dropping? LATER!
You don’t know how to rap, you can’t catch the beats.
Beats are like women, you either grab them quick and give it heat,
or you risk being just a friend, that’s the deal.
How many awards do I have on my bed? ZERO!
What comes out of my mouth when I rhyme? FIRE!
What do I care what they think on the radio? NOTHING!
Tote’s recording an album, when’s it dropping? LATER!
Dudes are idiots, girls are idiots,
Old folks and kids at least become people, no limits,
and they get along, zones where instinct rules,
you don’t even make it, how could it be different, fool!
What have you done to my heart, feels like it’s Sunday?
The Day of the Beast, holy shit, cut up on Wonder Bread, hey,
my lines are already bingos,
World War III between Mac and Windows, that’s how it goes.
I don’t force you, my flow does, live and direct,
bless the creators of soul seek, what’s next?
I recorded a demo, an album, another demo, a maxi,
Tote doesn’t even check how much the cab’s charging.
There are witnesses, park culture, rumors,
I rip the patch off impostors, no more tumors,
killing for promo is always a pointless grind,
because there are many planets, but we always talk about Martians in kind.
[Chorus]
It’s done, just drop it, respect yourself, come on, stop,
Enough, let that beastly envy go, just wrap it up!
Fucks of the present, little kids of the past,
I grab the mic, haha! Another rapper out of work, alas.
How many awards do I have on my bed? ZERO!
What comes out of my mouth when I rhyme? FIRE!
What do I care what they think on the radio? NOTHING!
Tote’s recording an album, when’s it dropping? LATER!
