Bzrp

They send me private messages for my lyrics, they are a delight
And rappers don't have enough to open a franchise
With Biza, we leave Western and Galicia without money
Buddy, leave the forensic experts alone, let them do their investigations

My milk for all those bastards, Oreo cream
In San Martín there's Zara and in Brooklyn Notorious
I'm smoking with Dexter inside the lab
I have more ink than all the servants and demons

The chain doesn't make the rapper, you're wrong
Look, even the fish ended up being golden
Bro, having fame doesn't mean being respected
If I leave someone stuck here at 5, it's a kidnapped chicken

They say Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss
And snitches go after your woman when you're locked up
If I'm not carrying the Glock, I'm carrying the Smith and Wesson
If I don't smell like Rabanne, I smell like freshly printed dollars, baby

Tomorrow they'll kill me, I'm another face on the wall
If they want to cut me for being the purest rapper
To be more precise, from a mattress on the floor
And now I come down from the bed, with a solid gold ingot

With gloves and balaclavas, you can't see my tattoos
We have your favorite rapper as a hostage
In my bed, I leave the panties, and on the floor, her bra
Barbie came with a gangster and left Ken behind

What good was it to guide yourself through the alley?
If the spoon is still there and mom sleeps in a drawer, bastard
The toughest of the Argentinians
They switched the stones from my path for a Cuban cigar, baby