It all started in a f*cking dream
Mansions, designer clothes
I'm a musician, not a dealer
I sail the seven seas with gold hanging from my neck
This isn't a one-day thing
From back when YouTube paid nothing, when Spoti didn't even exist
When singing for thirty euros was a joy
When I left the house not knowing if I'd come back, yeah
How many women have passed through
How many stories I've told you
How many b*stards betrayed me
And bit the hand that had always fed them, yeah
I'm the number one on this island
And whoever dares to argue it, babe, God bless them
I look after my kids with respect and joy
So that they keep at the music and blow up someday
Heading to the party in the Ferrari or in the X6
I show only what I want and that's what you see
Even though I've been through depressions, anxiety and stress
Fame for a kid is hard to understand
Seeing mom once a month
Or seeing how everybody laughs at things that aren't funny
And being high at every party isn't a synonym for success
And this money can pay for whatever I want
But it can't buy another childhood
Or being fully in love
And losing it all because of distance
If they don't call me, then they shouldn't cry for me, yeah
They know about me from what others post, yeah
And then they ask, and then they f*ck me over
Babe, I'm not a bank for everyone to rob me, yeah-yeah
Even if times change fast and better ones will come
I'll always keep my girl in all my prayers
And all my brothers, no need for mentions
With whom I went around the world writing songs
Half of those who were there, babe, are gone now
I sent every one of them to sh*t with their fake love
You worship another junkie and his alley
I was born to be a star and that's what I am now
Those checks can't match it, babe
Freedom—I chose it, it's my religion
I built all this from my bedroom
You're just another b*tch in that bunch, hey
Stick to the new ones so you can shine, dude
I'm still top three of all that's Spanish
Invoicing close to a million per show
If you wanted in, you should've paid attention, hey
You at thirty still saying you're gonna make it
And me here thinking about when I'll retire, yo
Wondering if I really want a kid or not
Of those who came up, only Pucho and I are left
The industry ruined four of the others
And the paper devoured the four that were left, blessed
And I only give thanks to God
For this gift, my blessing