LYRICS GAME

We hide behind an image

Of appearance

And we can tweak it whenever it suits us

It’s only about fashion

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

Speak with an accent

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

Babes, daddies

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

Death to Auto-Tune

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

You live a passing fad

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 take speed

You dream of being Brad Pitt

In Fight Club

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

You play football

You listen to flamenco

You love yourself

It’s appearances, demands for the image

What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage

You live a passing fad

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

Smoke that joint

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

To appreciate your roof

It’s appearances, demands for image

What matters is what they think, your clique and its lineage

You live a passing fad

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

Swallow it whole