He gifted me his pistol with a golden handle
I fill the cooler, because today feels right
They see me blowing smoke
And although I'm very quiet
Who always take care of me
From Culiacán to La Humadera
I light a BackPack Boyz
In the white Suburban and I mock the government
And the glasses are Prada
I live what I want, anyway they're going to talk
They see me blowing smoke
Criminals don't go with me
They run into the people who always take care of me
Just like my dad, I'll mention it again