We hide behind an image
And we can tweak it whenever it suits us
Each one with their matching tag, look
You have to be a chauvinist, obligated
And if you’re Spanish, God, you’ll have to act American
With your flat cap I’m sure you’ll win a Nobel
In your videos twenty chicks show up, teasing
You ask me for what? Don’t call them sl*ts
But they’re asking for it
They’re begging for it
Same sh*t, it all gathers on the same side
I swear to you that I try to respect it, but I can’t
Give me more gasoline, let’s see if I burn you with it
Your lyrics are pure inspiration, the message jumps out
About how to f*ck while giving a massage
The tracks bore them all the same
The beats are clones and you’re just another YouTube clown
Twerk, twerk, let’s see if you get dizzy
With so much rubbing, you get diarrhea
Your T-shirts down to your knees
Your short pants up to your ankles
Your name engraved on the buckle
Your lyrics don’t match your shiny rosary
One of two: either you’re dumb or twice as dumb, got it?
The girls act tough, they bare their claws
To keep their man while their man looks for another sl*t
The moment you slack off she’s already got a bump
He goes with another and there’s another belly
That’s how you make a combo
It’s appearances, demands for the image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
In homage to the character you follow
It’s possible that it doesn’t fit
It’s appearances, demands for the image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
You follow a trend and a savage aesthetic
Preppy, psycho, reggaedumb, chav, and for me it’s an outrage
Your way of speaking and writing is irritating
You pose as buff, take off the tank top
If you’re a skinny weakling
The tight shirt and make sure it’s really big
So they can see your boxers are Armani
The lip piercing can’t be missing
Your souped-up fifty-cc bike that takes you everywhere
The trendy tattoo that’s cool is the star on the elbow
And the tacky laces and rings you wear in gold
Hair gel for your bangs, the cap like a comb
Raise your arms to the sky when you listen to makina
The whole planet fears you
Known in every nightclub
Ending up in Ibiza must be your only goal
Sign up to the gym and go all-in with Kick Boxing
You don’t like dogs but you want a Pitbull
You play Call of Duty, Pro and Need For Speed
More casual than the kids who only have a Wii
You dream of being Brad Pitt
You sell yourself as the guy that understands girls and listens to them
And you don’t give a f*ck about cheating on her
You want a tuned convertible car
To show it off in the middle of winter
Their babes are clones of Amy Winehouse
But with the thong pulled up and the pants tighter
Whenever there’s trouble and you’re in a group you puff up
If you’re alone I don’t know how you do it but you always vanish
You’re the most popular, the one who gets the worst grades
Your IQ lowered by the booze you puke
It’s appearances, demands for the image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
In homage to the character you follow
It’s possible that it doesn’t fit
It’s appearances, demands for the image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
You follow a trend and a savage aesthetic
Preppy, psycho, reggaedumb, chav, and for me it’s an outrage
Being a bum is trendy and doing small deals
Going to raves, filling up on trips paid for by daddy
Dress hippie, don’t be picky, so they see that you’re real
You pose as poor but you don’t know what living rough is
Bend your flat cap while you’re at it
Say that the only music you listen to is Regge-Rap and Bruman Bassi
Peace and respect, said ironically
When push comes to shove you’ll see that you’ll lack company
Wear the torn tracksuit and be careful
Let no one find out that you studied in a private school
Shave half your head or get dreadlocks
You won’t say where it comes from
But when you go out you always have cash
You change overnight
Smoke that cig, drink the Cacique and you’re a lesbian already
Grow some good marijuana
Have a good f*ck and voilà
Now you’re as good as new
You from the old school tell me why you don’t admit it
If you started with Porta, you’ll say it was with CPV
Everything’s sold out, nothing represents anymore
Than going out for a while and listening to 80s Rap
Tattoos, piercings, all ruined
Stop! Leave it for the photo
Complain about every ban and let others deal with it
Lying in the park with calimocho
And in fact, you should really go hungry
It’s appearances, demands for image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
In homage to the character you follow
It’s possible that you don’t fit
It’s appearances, demands for image
What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage
You follow a trend and a savage aesthetic
Preppy, psycho, reggaedummy, chav, for me it’s an outrage