Learn Spanish With Feid with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Colombian reggaeton star Feid teams up with ATL Jacob on "LUNA", a track where he is stuck replaying memories of an ex who walked away. He admits he spends his nights drinking and smoking alone ("Fumo y bebo solo" [I smoke and drink alone]), trying to figure out the exact moment things fell apart: "No supe qué día te olvidaste de mí" (I didn't realize which day you forgot about me). There is a sharp sting of betrayal here. He claims she traded down by leaving him, flipping the usual saying on its head with "Cambiaste plata por oro" (You traded silver for gold), meaning he was the real prize all along.

Feid keeps the energy high even while nursing a broken heart, tossing in boxing metaphors like "me tiraste pa' la lona" (you knocked me to the canvas) and complaining that she drained his energy completely ("Me dejaste en cero toda la estámina" [You left my stamina at zero]). He also mixes in Colombian party slang, looking back at "Hacer el amor cuando estábamos farros" (Making love when we were partying / out having a wild night). Even though he misses her, he sets a firm boundary: "No me llames cuando te sientas sola" (Don't call me when you feel lonely). By the end, he is just waiting for the track itself to finish so he can finally move on.

"Perfecta" feels like watching two people playfully size each other up under party lights. Colombian singer Feid starts things off with pure hype, watching someone step out feeling good, hair moving, and looking sharp in her dress: "Te maquillas, te luce el vestido" [You put on makeup, the dress looks great on you]. The chorus repeats the core idea with no hesitation: "Tan perfecta tú / Hoy que saliste a la calle / Tan perfecta que / No necesitas a nadie" [You're so perfect today when you went out into the street / So perfect that you don't need anyone]. He even jokes that the moon is jealous of her. It is loud flattery, but then Greeicy steps in to challenge him directly.

She immediately calls out the recycled pickup lines. She asks why he tries to impress her "con cuentos que con alguien practicaste" [with stories you practiced with someone else] and adds firmly, "eso conmigo no va" [that doesn't fly with me / that doesn't work on me]. In everyday Spanish, "no va conmigo" is a great idiom for brushing off games or behavior you refuse to tolerate. She does not kick him to the curb completely, though. She tells him she is willing to listen if he says something genuinely original, pointing out "Que no eres todavía el hombre de mi vida / Pero con el tiempo yo puedo enamorarme" [You aren't the man of my life yet / But with time I could fall in love]. It turns a standard party compliment into an honest back-and-forth about self-worth and cutting through the nonsense.

Colombian star Feid teams up with Puerto Rican artist Young Miko for "Classy 101," a reggaeton track that skips the slow courtship entirely. Feid opens by daydreaming about someone out of their designer clothes—"sin ese Valentino" [without that Valentino]—and makes it clear he has zero interest in a traditional relationship: "Vamos a comernos, baby, aunque no sea formal" [Let's hook up, baby, even if it's not formal]. The vibe here is completely direct. He loves that she looks expensive and acts confident, calling her "cara, bitchy, classy" [expensive-looking, bitchy, classy] and betting she prefers wild encounters over candlelight dinners ("Nada de lo romantic" [Nothing romantic]).

Young Miko jumps in to match that energy without missing a beat. She hypes up a party girl who has been hitting clubs before she even had a legal ID ("Rumbea desde que no tiene ID" [She parties since she didn't have an ID]), stealing Oakley shades, and causing total chaos on the dance floor. The track leans heavily into playful flirtation, using funny legal metaphors like threatening to "cobrar la multa" [charge the fine] for teasing looks and begging to be put under "house arrest." It is loud, bold, and delightfully unapologetic about wanting pure fun without strings attached.

Feid turns the club into a runway. "Alakran" (scorpion) is a nickname for the sharp, dangerous energy of the girls he's describing: confident and dressed head to toe in Bottega, Margiela and Louis Vuitton.

The song has no real story. It's a snapshot of a Friday night, glamorous women pulling up to the party in an SUV, skipping the VIP line because everyone already knows who they are, while the guys in the room are left chasing after them.

Colombian reggaeton star Feid brings total heartbreak to this track, mixing heavy regret with classic Medellín slang. He kicks things off staring at old text messages, furious at himself for being so naive: "Qué puta rabia por lo ingenuo que fui" ("What fucking rage over how naive I was"). He thought he was the only one, only to catch her with someone else using his own two eyes. Now, he is dealing with bloodshot eyes and total isolation, admitting that his mental health walked out the door with her.

Feid paints a painfully funny picture of his misery, shouting classic vallenato tunes out in the country until his throat gives out: "Baby, casi me quedo sin voz / Cantando en la finca un osito dormilón" ("Baby, I almost lost my voice / Singing 'A Sleeping Little Bear' on the farm"). He relies on heavy Colombian paisa slang throughout. He addresses her using vos instead of the standard tú, calls out his lonely weekends with "Ya van seis meses sin salir ni un carechimba viernes" ("It's been six months without going out on a single damn Friday"), and tries to drown his sorrow in liquor. It is messy, honest, and completely direct.

Colombian reggaeton star Feid brings his signature Medellín sound to SE LO JURO MOR, delivering an honest breakup track about drawing the line with an ex who won't stop texting. The title itself uses classic paisa slang: mor is short for amor (love), commonly used like "babe" or "honey." In the track, Feid feels burned because he thought this person was special, singing, "pensaba que tú sí ibas a ser la diferente" ("I thought you were going to be the different one"). Instead, he realizes he took the fall for someone else's past trauma, asking who hurt her so badly that she decided to take it out on him ("se lo cobraste a mi nombre" / "you charged it to my name"). He even drops a brutal comparison: "Pa' ti yo siempre fui un motel / Hoy estás, pero mañana no sé" ("To you I was always a motel / Today you're here, but tomorrow I don't know").

Instead of moping around forever, he pivots into healing through partying and moving on. He admits, "Me la he pasado farreando, corazón, I can't lie" ("I've spent my time partying, sweetheart, I can't lie"), using the Colombian slang verb farrear (to party or hit the clubs). Now, he makes it clear that while he spends his money, he refuses to waste his time on mixed signals. Even though she still sends late-night texts saying she misses him, Feid tells her straight up: "Ya suelta mi mano" ("Let go of my hand"). It is a relatable, smooth track about finally cutting the cord after realizing someone's kisses were only on loan ("tus besos to's fueron prestado").

Castigo plunges us into the very last moments of a wild night out. The club lights have dimmed, dawn is peeking through, yet Feid and his dance-floor muse refuse to let the chemistry fade. Over a pulsing reggaetón beat, the Colombian singer showers her with compliments, admires her sun-kissed skin and hypnotic moves, and playfully offers to splurge on aguardiente and champagne. His words turn flirtatious and slightly provocative as he promises castigo (punishment) – a teasing way to say he wants to take their attraction to the next level, even if they are “just friends.”

Beneath the glossy party imagery, the song captures that electric moment when mutual desire outweighs everything else: time, place, even the thin line between friendship and romance. Feid’s lyrics celebrate confidence (both his and hers), the thrill of perreo, and the bold spirit of single women who own the dance floor. Think of “Castigo” as a soundtrack for anyone who has ever watched the sunrise after a night of dancing and still felt the rush of possibility in the air.

"Boleritoxx" is Feid's take on heartbreak, set to a bolero-inspired rhythm. A year after a breakup, he's still surrounded by reminders of her: her scent, the couch they used to share, memories saved in old videos. He hasn't moved on, even while trying to convince himself something better is coming.

The tone stays gentle rather than bitter. He holds no grudges and genuinely wishes her well, but admits he's still the one drinking away the nights and missing her most when he's supposed to be happy. Underneath the soft delivery, "Boleritoxx" is about the quiet, ordinary ache of missing someone long after everyone assumes you've moved on.

"HULU" is Feid's invitation to a steamy night where reggaetón beats slow down just enough for bodies to sync. Over glittering synths, the Colombian singer reminisces about an unforgettable encounter: the taste of desire ("estuvo deli"), the instant readiness to relive it, and the dizzying chemistry that makes the room spin. The hook repeats like a pulse, highlighting how the duo's attraction burns "más caliente que un punto de venta," hotter than a card reader that never stops swiping.

At the same time, the song is pure party fuel. Feid paints a scene where the crew wants perreo and a crowd of confident women in mini skirts and bikini tans flood the dance floor. Freedom, flirtation, and rhythmic hips mix with that slow reggaetón tempo, turning the club into a space where nothing exists but the music, the heat, and the promise of another wild memory. Think of "HULU" as a short film of nighttime celebration: press play and you step inside the story.

Colombian reggaeton star Feid teams up with Maisak for "SE ME OLVIDA", a track all about the messy habit of drunk-dialing an ex who has already moved on. The title translates directly to "I Forget", and the narrator's big problem is that whenever he drinks, his brain deletes the breakup entirely. As he admits, "borracho / Se me olvida / Que ahora soy tu ex, que ya te perdí" ("drunk / I forget / That now I'm your ex, that I already lost you"). What stings even worse is the realization that while she was the love of his life, she is now happily with someone else: "el amor de mi vida / Está con el amor de su vida" ("the love of my life / Is with the love of her life").

The lyrics are packed with local Colombian flavor, slang, and painfully honest moments. Feid looks back at their humble beginnings, admitting he couldn't afford luxury designer brands like "Gucci" or "Fendi", offering cheap local sugarcane liquor instead: "Yo sólo te ofrecía guaro" ("I only offered you aguardiente"). Now that he has money from song royalties and drives the dream truck ("mionca", Colombian slang for camioneta or SUV), it feels completely pointless because "La silla derecha está vacía" ("The right seat is empty"). He even brings up intimate personal quirks that her new partner could never match, like knowing she loves listening to classic vallenato singer Diomedes Díaz on Sundays ("musiquita de Diomedes los domingos"). It is an honest, bittersweet look at success that feels hollow without the person you planned it all for.

“BUBALU” is a sun-kissed love letter where Colombian hitmaker Feid and Nigerian star Rema confess that every party, beach trip, and late-night adventure loses its sparkle without one special woman. The chorus’ playful slang – “Dulcecita flow Trululu, cremita de coconut” – paints her as a sweet tropical treat, while “Bubbaloo” (a chewy Latin-American gum) becomes a cheeky nickname for the irresistible pull of her body and vibe. From jet-ski rides in Montego Bay to flirty hotel rooms in Benidorm, the song hops across dreamy vacation spots, mixing Spanish, English, and Nigerian Pidgin to celebrate a cross-cultural romance that feels both global and intensely personal.

Beneath the laid-back reggaeton-meets-Afrobeats groove, the message is simple: nothing tastes as good, sounds as good, or feels as good without her. Feid zooms in on her photos when they are apart, convinced she must have cast a little vudú on him; Rema promises to stay loyal if she ever considers someone else. “BUBALU” is sweet, sensual, and slightly nostalgic – the musical equivalent of blowing a bright-pink bubble on a warm Caribbean night and wishing the moment could stretch forever.

Colombian hitmaker Feid delivers a moody reggaeton anthem about obsessing over an ex who has supposedly moved on. He admits to typing out texts he never sends and complains that while he is sweating in Miami, his heart is ice cold. Even though both of them pretend it is over, he reminds her of their lingering connection with a classic line: "Se te olvidó que tú y yo nos dimos un beso después de habernos despedido" (You forgot that you and I kissed after saying goodbye).

He pairs wounded pride with typical nightlife swagger, brushing off her other suitors by calling them his "hijos" (sons—a slang way to say they are amateur copycats). He also watches her flaunt gym photos during a nonstop "Hot Girl Summer" while he drops devil emojis in her comments. Between partying, passing a vape, and leaving behind his signature sunglasses so she cannot forget him ("Quédate con mis lentes / Solamente pa' que me recuerdes"), the track blends late-night club energy with total heartbreak.

Colombian reggaeton star Feid brings a heavy dose of Medellín flavor to this breakup track, where he looks back at a toxic relationship with a mix of sarcasm, regret, and relief. The title and chorus hinge on cutting irony when he sings, "Perdóname por tanto, yo pensé que esto era real" [Forgive me for giving so much, I thought this was real] alongside "gracias por nada" [thanks for nothing]. He admits that even though he is hurt ("así me quede roto" [even if I'm left broken]), moving on is the only option. All that remains of the good times is a single memory: "De esa fiesta en Berlín sólo nos queda la foto" [From that party in Berlin, all we have left is the photo].

What makes this track stand out is Feid's sharp use of Colombian slang while he recovers his social life. He kicks himself for ditching his friends to stay home waiting for an unfaithful partner, swearing, "La chimba, uno no cambia un culo por los bros" [No way, you don't trade your bros for someone you're seeing]. In Medellín street talk, "la chimba" acts as strong slang for "no way," while "guaro" means aguardiente (the local anise-flavored liquor) and "las firmas" refers to his trusted close crew. Instead of moping over passive-aggressive social media posts ("Esas indirectas del story, baby, no las mandes más" [Those hints on your Instagram story, baby, don't send them anymore]), he hits the club, declines her late-night calls, and spends his cash partying with his friends.

In "Ferxxo 100," Colombian star Feid takes us through a late-night heartbreak spiral that feels way too relatable. He is drunk at dawn, staring at a silent phone, and trying to pretend he has moved on by taking someone else out. Spoiler: it fails completely. The second he looks at his new date, all he sees is his ex ("Pero la miro y me acuerdo de ti" ["But I look at her and I remember you"]). Instead of playing it cool, he admits to roaming the streets hoping to run into her, blasting old perreo through his Bose speaker, and spamming her with songs over voice notes like an obsessive mess ("Yo todo intenso preguntando por vos" ["Me, totally intense, asking about you"]).

Feid packs the lyrics with colourful Colombian slang and local pop culture punchlines. He throws in blunt swear words like "Qué falta me haces tan hijueputa" ["I miss you so damn much"] and makes a cheeky reference to internet gossip with "Me echaste como echaron de Philipp Plein a la Segura" ["You kicked me out like they kicked La Segura out of Philipp Plein"], nodding to a viral moment involving the Colombian influencer. Even while pleading that he never messed up ("Yo nunca la cagué" ["I never screwed up"]) and begging to meet tonight, he softens up with a genuine wish: "sólo espero que si no vuelves conmigo, siempre te cuide Dios" ["I just hope that if you don't come back to me, God always watches over you"].

Colombian star Feid teams up with reggaeton veteran Yandel to walk you through a messy Miami breakup. The track is named after Brickell, the upscale financial neighborhood in Miami where the narrator shared an apartment with his ex. He is stuck replaying memories of taking her to trendy nightlife spots like Papi Steak and Gekko ("Te llevé pa' Papi, te llevé pa' Gekko y ni querías comer" [I took you to Papi, I took you to Gekko and you didn't even want to eat]) and watching the sunrise together. Now that it is over, she treats him like a total stranger ("ahora me trata flow desconocido" [now she treats me like a stranger]), leaving him locked out of her social media status updates and wondering where she went.

The lyrics mix heavy nostalgia with Colombian slang and funny, overly honest regrets. When Feid sings "descubrimos lo chimba que es ver amanecer" [we discovered how cool it is to see the sunrise], he uses the classic Colombian word chimba to describe how great something is. He tries to rebound by going out on the prowl ("Hoy salgo de cacería" [Today I go hunting]), but his luck is terrible: he ends up at the exact same hotel where they used to hook up. To make matters worse, she still has his jacket and his Yeezy sneakers ("Tú te quedaste con el jacket y las Yeezy"), giving him a funny little excuse to hope he might run into her again just to get his clothes back.

Colombian reggaeton star Feid is putting his foot down in "Ferxxo 500." His ex is standing right in front of him trying to rekindle things, but he has zero interest in running it back. He is brutally honest about how much he used to hurt, admitting, "Yo te esperaba todas las noches y me cansé de rogar" ("I waited for you every night and got tired of begging"). Now, the emotional damage has healed into permanent scars, and her kisses simply do not taste the same anymore. He tells her plainly that picturing his life without her is the best thing that could have happened to him.

Feid mixes heartbreak with petty, memorable details that make the track hit home. He drops vivid Colombian and Latin slang, like "me diste en la torre" ("you ruined me" or "you hit me hard") and laughs at how her friends told her "píchale" ("ignore him"), pointing out that she happily ignored his calls but never took off the luxury Tiffany jewelry he bought her ("nunca te quitaste las joyitas de Tiffany"). Even though he acknowledges they had undeniable physical chemistry ("chingando éramos los mejores"), he didn't even get a call when she took a trip to Italy ("pa' Italy"). With every passing day, he forgets her a little more, leaving her with one final piece of advice: she better get used to life without him.

Feid’s “Confesión” feels like a steamy late-night phone call turned into a song. The Colombian artist opens with a simple “¿Aló?” and immediately admits he still misses his lover, sparking a rush of memories, fantasies, and irresistible temptation. Scrolling through her photos, he imagines their bodies colliding again, cherishing moments that refuse to fade. The track’s pulsing reggaetón beat mirrors his racing heart as he paints a vivid picture of craving physical closeness—wanting to be the “best friend” of her body and her sighs.

Confesión is ultimately a bold declaration of unfiltered desire. Feid blurs the line between romance and heat, confessing that no matter the hour, the sound of his voice keeps her on the line. He praises her confidence, teases playful mischief behind closed doors, and unapologetically celebrates mutual lust. It is an anthem for anyone who has ever felt that magnetic pull toward someone who understands them both emotionally and physically—a catchy, sensual reminder that sometimes the strongest connections begin with a single late-night “hello.”

Colombian hitmaker Feid gives us the ultimate post-breakup reality check in "Normal". The situation is messy: he was giving 100% while she only gave half, sleeping beside him while seeing someone else ("Yo durmiendo contigo y tú con otro te acuestas" [I was sleeping with you and you sleep with someone else]). Now that they are over, she is hitting the club every weekend hoping to run into him, calling him drunk, and pretending to cry over him in another person's bed. Feid's reaction? Shrugging it off with a sarcastic "Normal" ("Normal, si te sientes solita y me extrañas" [It's normal if you feel lonely and miss me]). Nobody is buying her sob story when she brought it on herself.

Feid balances genuine hurt with hilarious levels of petty confidence. He admits that forgiving her is too hard, but he is definitely not sitting around moping. Instead, he is in Los Cabos making money ("están lloviendo los chavos" [money is raining down]), dancing with someone new, and offering some cheeky medical advice: if her heart hurts, she should take a Panadol painkiller ("Si le duele el cora', que se tome un Panadol" [If her heart hurts, let her take a Panadol]). He points out Colombian and Caribbean slang along the way, calling reckless guys "gatos malos" (bad cats / bad boys) and calling out her fake social media smile ("Bebé, si en la foto te ves feliz" [Baby, you look happy in your photo]). It is a bouncy, direct track about moving on, getting your lick back, and watching your ex realize what they lost.

PPCP drops us straight into a high-energy night out in Medellín’s elite party scene. Feid and Sky paint a picture of cruising the city in a bulletproof, blacked-out SUV, chrome rims spinning while the music pounds. The lyrics celebrate a life where cash flows like confetti, VIP tables overflow with whisky (Chivas), and beautiful women strike worldwide-worthy Instagram poses. It is a snapshot of unfiltered luxury: private jets, penthouses with ocean views, and a no-limits attitude that turns every club into their own personal “movie.”

Beneath the flashy imagery, the song champions confidence and loyalty to your crew. “Aquí no pasó nada” becomes the rule of the night: whatever wild things happen, they stay locked inside the tinted windows of that truck. Feid invites listeners to feel invincible, to own the dance floor, and to embrace the thrill of living in the moment—just be ready for bright lights, heavy beats, and a whole lot of swagger.

In "RU MOR", Colombian reggaeton star Feid leans hard into Medellín street slang to tell a classic tale: dating someone whose parents cannot stand you. The mother disapproves of him because of his chains, tattoos, and rough crowd: "Tu mai no quiere que yo esté contigo / Por las cadenas y por mis tatuajes / Porque ando siempre rodeado de bandidos" ("Your mom doesn't want me with you / Because of the chains and my tattoos / Because I'm always surrounded by bandits"). Instead of taking offense, Feid flexes his newfound wealth. He boasts about his green fleet of cars and bikes as if he won the Colombian lottery ("me saqué el Baloto"), promises he will upgrade the mother-in-law out of the hood into the upscale neighborhood of El Poblado ("Dile a la suegra que la buena, que algún día la saco del barrio / Y me la llevo pa'l Pobla"), and tells his girl to sneak out the back terrace in a miniskirt for a night of partying.

What makes the track stick is how blunt and full of local flavor the storytelling gets. Feid pulls up in a "mionca" (street slang for a big truck or SUV) and stays on guard ("enmaquinado, por si las moscas"—armed and prepared, just in case). He switches between sweet promises of driving her home at sunrise and direct warnings that her dad ("tu cucho") is going to cause trouble if he catches them sneaking around. It is a late-night, rebellious ride that turns neighborhood gossip into pure party energy.

8 DIAX finds Colombian artist Feid spinning a vivid tale of a secret fling that feels as fast and risky as a late-night drive through Medellín. The narrator recalls the moment he first tasted forbidden love: a woman wearing his hoodie, sliding into the neighborhood in her boyfriend’s luxurious "Mercho" (Mercedes). As the story unfolds, he discovers that the thoughtful gifts she gave him were actually paid for by the other man – a painful reminder of the love triangle they are trapped in. Yet, instead of backing off, he becomes obsessed, hustling “de noche, de día” (night and day) to rise to her level, even while her friends warn her that he is trouble.

At its heart, the song contrasts material wealth and genuine connection. Although the woman’s official partner can shower her with Nike sneakers and cash, Feid’s character believes his raw passion and daring escapades – cruising through El Poblado, spiking cocktails, and breaking the rules – give her something money cannot buy. “8 DIAX” is therefore a confession of youthful recklessness, desire, and the lengths we’ll go to prove our worth when love feels just out of reach, all wrapped in Feid’s smooth reggaeton flow and catchy hooks.

Feid’s “AMOR DE MI VIDA” feels like reading late-night texts no one was ever supposed to see. The Colombian artist confesses that, even while partying with “otro culo,” lighting a Phillie and trying every possible distraction, he can’t shake the thirst for the one woman he calls the love of his life. There was never a proper goodbye, so the singer spirals between regret, jealousy and raw desire, admitting he still tracks her online and replays memories of nights spent “sin condón.” The chorus pulses with urgency: “Dime si tú vienes o yo voy… esto no puede pasar de hoy,” a plea for an immediate reunion before the chance slips away forever.

The song captures that bittersweet space where moving on feels impossible. Feid owns up to his mistakes, imagines she might be with someone new and still believes their bond is unbreakable. His lyrics swing from swagger to vulnerability, reminding listeners that no party, hookup or smoke session can erase a love that never got its final chapter. In short, “AMOR DE MI VIDA” is a reggaeton-laced diary entry about longing, late apologies and the hope that true love might answer the phone one more time.

Feid spends this whole song arguing with someone who stopped answering. He opens flat out with Estoy cansado de aparentar (I'm tired of pretending), and the pretending in question is the story the two of them agreed on: that it was casual. Sé que no fuimos nada (I know we were nothing), he admits, and then takes it straight back with Pero fuimos first class (but we were first class). The detail that gives him away is ¿Por qué me tienes bloqueao'? (Why do you have me blocked?). That is not a philosophical question. That is a man looking at his phone.

The title comes from the chorus, ¿A son de qué te fuiste? ¿Cuál fue la razón? (What did you leave for? What was the reason?), which is the Colombian way of asking why something happened with no warning at all. What he actually wants is smaller than an explanation: No quisiera verte con alguien más (I wouldn't want to see you with someone else), then Que no sea yo, que no sea yo (anyone but me, anyone but me). By the second verse the two of them have been demoted to Ahora somos dos panas más (now we're just two more buddies), which is about the bleakest thing he could think to call it.