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

Colombian artist Feid gives us a classic reggaeton heartbreak anthem with "LUNA". He's completely lost after a breakup and can't figure out where it all went wrong. He keeps repeating the line, "No supe qué día te olvidaste de mí" (I don't know what day you forgot about me), which really gets across his confusion. He's looking back at the good times, when he called her "mi reina" (my queen) and their nights "no eran pa' dormir" (weren't for sleeping), but now he's just smoking and drinking alone, trying to piece it all together.

What's really interesting is how he flips the script on who was more valuable. He sings, "Cambiaste plata por oro" (You traded silver for gold), suggesting that he was the gold she gave up. He feels completely knocked out by the split, saying she "me tiraste pa' la lona" (knocked me to the canvas) like a boxer. Even though he's hurting, he's trying to set boundaries, telling her not to call him when she's lonely. He ends with a wish that's also a cool meta-reference to the song itself: "Ojalá que se acabe este tema y por fin yo me olvide de ti" (I hope this song ends and I can finally forget you).

Colombian star Feid teams up with Young Miko for "Classy 101," and let's be clear: this is not a sweet love song. It's a lesson in pure, unfiltered attraction. The whole track is a back-and-forth about wanting someone right now, with no strings attached. Feid kicks it off by admitting he's always imagining her, specifically what she looks like "sin ese Valentino" [without that Valentino dress]. He's blunt about his intentions: "Vamos a comernos, baby, aunque no sea formal" [Let's devour each other, baby, even if it's not formal].

Young Miko jumps in and matches his energy perfectly, describing a woman who is completely in control of her own desire. The chorus is the main idea here, describing someone who looks "cara, bitchy, classy" [expensive, bitchy, classy] but also likes things "freaky y nasty / Nada de lo romantic" [freaky and nasty / Nothing romantic]. It's all about a powerful, maybe even dangerous, attraction that's completely mutual and all about the physical connection.

Feid is going through it in this one! He starts off trying to sound tough, like he's totally over a breakup. He tells his ex, "Te juro que hoy te dejo en paz" (I swear I'll leave you in peace today), but then immediately follows it up with "Nadie te va a amar como yo, mami, sobre la faz" (No one will love you like me, mommy, on the face of the earth). It's that classic mix of heartbreak and ego, where he's trying to convince himself he's fine while also reminding her what she lost. He feels like he was just a temporary stop for her, saying, "Pa' ti yo siempre fui un motel" (To you I was always a motel), which is such a blunt way to put it.

But then he admits how much it actually hurts, saying he pretended it didn't hurt, "y duele el doble / O el triple cuando el cora' se rompe" (and it hurts double / Or triple when the heart breaks). He's confused because he's hearing rumors that she misses him, even though she's the one who ended things. He's trying to move on by partying, or "farreando" as he says, but he's still stuck on her. The whole song feels like that messy, confusing stage of a breakup where you're trying to act cool but you're really just sad and a little angry.

This song is a super fun conversation between two people meeting for the first time. Feid kicks it off by admiring a woman who is feeling herself. She looks amazing—"Te maquillas, te luce el vestido" (You put on makeup, the dress looks good on you)—and he sees her as completely self-sufficient and "Tan perfecta" (So perfect) that she doesn't need anyone. He lays the compliments on thick, even saying "La luna a ti te tiene celos" (The moon is jealous of you).

But she doesn't just fall for it! Greeicy's part is a challenge. She calls him out on his smooth talk, suggesting he's used these lines before: "con cuentos que con alguien practicaste" (with stories you practiced on someone else). She's interested, but she wants something real. She tells him to say things no one else has said and makes it clear that while he isn't the man of her life yet, she's open to the idea: "con el tiempo yo puedo enamorarme" (with time I can fall in love). It's a playful back-and-forth about confidence and the start of something new.

Feid is going through it in this one! He's been left by someone he was crazy about, and he's taking it hard. He feels like a total fool because he saw a message where she said, "me iba a amar" [she was going to love me], but then he saw her with another person with his own eyes. The shock and betrayal hit him so hard he says, "Con ella se fue hasta mi salud mental" [My mental health left with her]. It's a super blunt and honest look at feeling completely blindsided by a breakup.

Six months have passed, and things haven't gotten any better. He's stuck at home, confessing, "yo aquí llorando por vos" [me here crying for you]. He's trying to find her in "vicios" and "licor" [vices and liquor], but nothing is working. He feels like she moved on instantly—"Pa' olvidarte de mí fuiste veloz" [You were fast to forget me]—and left without even a goodbye. Now he's just begging her to come back and end his "sufrimiento" [suffering], convinced that she must be feeling just as miserable as he is.

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.

This is a classic heartbreak reggaeton track, but Feid makes it feel so real. He's out at the club, trying to have fun, but he just can't shake his ex. He admits it's the "Primera vez que estoy jangueando en la disco triste" (First time I'm partying sad in the club) and that even when he's dancing with someone new, he's still thinking about his old love. The whole song is built around this one painful, relatable idea: he keeps forgetting they broke up. He'll get drunk and call her, only to remember, "Que ahora soy tu ex, que ya te perdí" (That now I'm your ex, that I already lost you).

He gets really specific about their past, remembering how he couldn't afford fancy gifts like Gucci or Fendi, but they had a great time just drinking guaro (a Colombian liquor). Now he's successful and has the truck they always dreamed of, but the passenger seat is empty. The most crushing line has to be when he realizes "el amor de mi vida / Está con el amor de su vida" (the love of my life / Is with the love of her life). It's a sad party anthem for anyone who's ever had a hard time letting go.

Prohibidox is Feid’s spicy confession about a romance that lives in the shadows. Over a smooth reggaetón beat, he wonders “¿Por qué lo más rico siempre es prohibido?” and paints vivid scenes of late-night motorcycle rides, hidden smoke sessions, and secret hotel rooms. The thrill of sneaking around heightens every feeling: she wakes up next to another man, yet dreams about Feid, while he can’t stop sending her daring texts that keep the flame alive.

Behind the catchy hooks, the song captures the tug-of-war between desire and consequence. Feid insists their connection is real—everything else is “feka” (fake). Even though their relationship breaks the rules, he celebrates the excitement of being the only one who truly knows how to “tocar tu piel.” It’s a soundtrack for anyone who’s ever felt the magnetic pull of something (or someone) they technically shouldn’t have, wrapped in the signature vibe of Colombia’s rising star.

"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.

This song is one big, heartfelt message to an ex. Feid is laying all his cards on the table, telling this girl everything he wishes she knew. He's tried everything to move on, but it's not working: "Si tú supieras to' lo que yo he hecho sólo pa' ver si te olvido" (If you only knew everything I've done just to see if I can forget you). He admits he's wanted to text her many times but holds back. He's watching her social media, seeing her post "corazones partidos" (broken hearts) and pictures from the gym, and he's convinced it's all connected to him.

He mixes heartbreak with classic reggaeton swagger, claiming all the other guys hitting on her are just his copycats: "todos esos son hijos míos" (they are all my sons). He feels like a bandit who has no luck in love, and even though he's in a hot place like Miami, his "corazón está frío" (heart is cold) without her. The whole song builds up to one simple request: he wants to dance reggaeton with her and have just one more night together. It's a classic tale of wanting someone back, full of regret, longing, and a little bit of hope.

Colombian artist Feid gives us a classic Reggaeton story of a messy breakup in "Normal." He starts by admitting he's struggling to move on from a girl who cheated on him. He sings, "Yo dándote cien y tú me dabas cincuenta" (Me giving 100 and you giving me 50), explaining how unbalanced their relationship was. Even though he says, "Te extraño, pero perdonarte qué mucho me cuesta" (I miss you, but forgiving you is so hard for me), the song quickly shifts from sad to confident.

Feid spends the rest of the song telling her it's "Normal" (Normal) that she misses him now. He imagines her at the club every weekend, not looking for expensive gifts like Cartier, but trying "a ver si me vuelve a ver" (to see if she sees me again). He's moved on, bragging about being with other women and making more money since she left. His best line might be the coldest: "Si le duele el cora', que se tome un Panadol" (If her heart hurts, she should take a Panadol). It's a blunt and funny way of saying he has zero sympathy for her now.

“Lady Mi Amor” plunges us into Feid’s neon-lit world of late-night DMs, secret screenshots, and irresistible chemistry. The Colombian artist paints the portrait of a woman who owns her power: she flirts by sending photos then deleting them, keeps his favorite cap as a trophy, and rules Instagram from the shadows. By day she studies; by night she hits the clubs, funds a flashy truck through her OnlyFans, and gravitates toward the thrill of “gángster” swagger. Feid is mesmerized, confessing that her bold outfits, free-flowing hair, and taste for adventure tempt him to cross every line.

Beneath the catchy reggaeton beat, the song captures today’s dance between privacy and exhibition, craving and control. “Lady Mi Amor” celebrates a modern femme fatale who writes her own rules, while Feid’s playful, almost breathless lyrics mirror the push-and-pull of digital romance—where a single Insta story, a deleted message, or a stolen cap can spark an unforgettable connection.

Ever tried to get over someone by going out with somebody new? Colombian artist Feid knows exactly how that goes. In "Ferxxo 100," he's up late, drunk, and staring at his phone, waiting for a text that isn't coming. He's trying to move on, but it's not working: "Hoy salí con alguien dizque porque te olvidé / Pero la miro y me acuerdo de ti" (I went out with someone today, supposedly because I forgot you / But I look at her and I remember you).

This song is all about being stuck on an ex. Feid is doing everything he can think of to reconnect, from going out hoping to see her to being "todo intenso preguntando por vos" (all intense, asking about you). He even sends her music through voice notes. He's so deep in his feelings that he asks a question we've all wondered: "Mi amor, ¿el mal de amor cómo se cura?" (My love, how do you cure a broken heart?). It's a classic reggaeton heartbreak track, perfect for when you're deep in your feelings.

Feid kicks this song off with some majorly sarcastic gratitude. He starts by saying, "Antes de que te vayas a ir / Te quiero dar gracias por lo que pude vivir" (Before you go / I want to thank you for what I got to live). It sounds sweet for a second, but the beat drops and the real story comes out. This isn't a thank you note; it's a breakup anthem about realizing you were cheated on and that you're way better off alone, even if it hurts.

He's looking back and kicking himself, wondering, "¿En qué putas pensaba? / Cómo no vi que tú me engañabas" (What the f*ck was I thinking? / How did I not see you were cheating on me). He paints a clear picture of his regret, mentioning how he stayed home waiting for her while his friends were asking him to go out. The core of the song is his decision to move on, even if he's left with just a memory like "esa fiesta en Berlín" (that party in Berlin). He's done with the drama and ready to party with his friends again, telling her straight up, "Mami, no llores por mí, si tú ya tienes a otros" (Baby, don't cry for me, you already have other guys).

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.

CHIMBITA [Reggaeton Acústico] delivers a late-night confession from Colombian artist Feid, who plays the role of a lovestruck outsider. He keeps refreshing the girl’s Instagram stories, wondering why she is suddenly ghosting him after an intense rendezvous. The problem? She is dating a flashy “gángster” who showers her with Mercedes rides, Chanel bags and stacks of hundred-dollar bills, while Feid shows up on a humble motorbike. The lyrics capture that mix of jealousy and desire—he knows she craves the danger, weed and perreo that come with his world, yet he fears she might choose status over genuine chemistry.

Beneath the acoustic reggaeton groove, the song spotlights the classic tug-of-war between money and passion. Feid reminds her that luxury can’t replace authentic intimacy: the other guy may “gastar los chavos,” but he “no te sabe comer.” It’s a playful, slightly raw narrative about secret meet-ups, social-media stalking, and the thrill of forbidden love—all wrapped in Feid’s smooth guitar and rhythmic swing that make the story feel both vulnerable and irresistibly catchy.

This song is all about that feeling after a sudden breakup when you're just stuck replaying every memory. Feid kicks it off by remembering all the promises that were left behind in an apartment in Brickell, a fancy neighborhood in Miami. He's thinking about the good times, like how they discovered "lo chimba que es ver amanecer" (how cool it is to watch the sunrise), a very Colombian way to say it, thanks to Feid! But he also remembers the bad signs, like taking her to expensive restaurants like Gekko and Papi Steak where she didn't even want to eat.

He's completely hung up on her, asking "Mami, ¿cómo me olvidas?" (Baby, how do you forget me?) after they shared some seriously intense moments. He tries to move on by going "de cacería" (out on the hunt), but it's a total disaster. He even ends up at the same hotel with a new girl, which is just awful luck. The whole thing feels unfinished because, as he says, "Está cabrón que ni nos despedimos" (It's messed up that we didn't even say goodbye). He's left hoping he can use her forgotten jacket and Yeezys as an excuse to see her again. It's a perfect mix of heartbreak and trying to act tough.

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.”

Feid’s “YO AK” is basically a late–night WhatsApp chat turned into a reggaetón banger. From the very first line, the Colombian singer admits he is his lover’s “principal fanático,” still hoarding her photos and replaying steamy memories like a private video loop. The beat drops while he paints flashbacks of wild Christmas-Eve parties on a finca, smoky rooms, and impulsive photo exchanges. Every lyric drips with nostalgia + desire: they are miles apart, yet they keep “touching each other from afar” through texts, tweets, and risky selfies.

At its heart, the song explores that addictive gray zone where lust survives long–distance. Love? Maybe. Pleasure? Definitely. Feid uses Medellín slang like chimba (cool/sexy) and playful Spanglish to show how intoxicating physical chemistry can be—even when it’s only fueled by memories, screens, and a couple of drinks. The result is a seductive anthem for anyone who has ever scrolled through old photos at 2 a.m., wishing they could teleport straight back into someone’s arms.

This song is one big, satisfying "it's too late" to an ex who suddenly reappears. Feid sounds completely surprised to see her, singing, "Se siente extraño que tú estés aquí" (It feels strange that you are here). He reminds her of all the pain she caused, how he gave her his heart and she "lo desperdiciaste, me pagaste con dolor" (wasted it, paid me with pain). He's not holding back at all.

He's totally moved on and tells her that being without her is "lo mejor que me podría pasar" (the best thing that could happen to me). He even gets specific, calling her out for keeping the expensive jewelry he bought her and not calling when she went to Italy. He admits they were great in one area—"chingando éramos los mejores" (in bed we were the best)—but that's not enough to fix things. His final advice to her is pretty blunt: "Yo te recomiendo que te acostumbres a no estar conmigo" (I recommend that you get used to not being with me).

"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.

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.

Feid is tired of being far away from the girl he likes, and even more tired of the rumors getting back to her family. Her mom is not a fan, and he knows exactly why: "Por las cadenas y por mis tatuajes / Porque ando siempre rodeado de bandidos" (Because of my chains and my tattoos / Because I'm always surrounded by thugs). He's got a bad-boy reputation, and her parents are worried. But Feid isn't trying to hide it. He pulls up in a big truck, ready for trouble, and makes it clear he's protective, warning that if anyone else touches her, "les cae to' el peso" (the full weight will fall on them).

Despite the tough-guy image, he's also trying to win over the family, sort of. He tells his girl to pass a message to her mom: "que algún día la saco del barrio / Y me la llevo pa'l Pobla" (that one day I'll take her out of the neighborhood / And bring her to El Poblado). El Poblado is a very nice area in his home city of Medellín, so he's basically flexing his success and promising to take care of them. He's rich, he's a little dangerous, and he's coming to pick her up to go party, telling her to sneak out the back.