ABAMA Jr. Suite Lyrics in English by Cruz Cafuné, Leiti

Below, I translated the lyrics of the song ABAMA Jr. Suite by Cruz Cafuné from Spanish to English.
These lyrics have verified word for word translations. Click any lyric word to see the translation and hear the pronunciation!
Moving with God
(English)
922-928
We are nothing, but you can roll with me
I thought I heard you say that pussy is mine
Wi-wi-with my black and mixed race friends, cough syrup
Riding on the sunroof throwing signs
No, in the Suburban LT
Either tears or smoke fogged up the Bagatelle
I'm worried about Yuki, I'm here for him this Easter
Not for the hate, they're gonna talk about me until I lower the flex
And I'm saucin', I can't hear you, la-la-la-la
Chains and the Aldama jersey
Wildin' in the Junior Suite at Abama
Looking at the photos reminds me of how you smelled
Doing push-ups with one lit in my mouth
She knows what expression I make even if I wear a ski mask
Merch sold out, the easiest racks of my life
Seventy bands like Lollapalooza Argentina
Save my chats and live streams
In case I die tomorrow
You can listen to my voice messages, baby
When you miss me
The pillow doesn't smell like your perfume, I'm losing it
Mami, I know the trick, I don't get scared, understand it
She knows what she's doing and I appreciate her, that's my hoe
Yeah, that's my ass, that's my dinner, that's my everything
My filet mignon, my pink *ss
The show costs 10k, the sun is rising
Tremendous pleasure to eat it all
Psilocybin, may God forgive me
Calm down, bro, it sounds like a rumor
Don't look for another case, little bro, listen to me, don't rush it
Only those of us with wounds will eat at the table
And they stay looking at me as if it's my fault
Save my chats and live streams
In case I die tomorrow
You can listen to my voice messages, baby
When you miss me
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Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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gusterón — great pleasure / big enjoyment

Gusterón is a colloquial and somewhat playful augmentative of gusto (pleasure, taste). It implies a very intense or great pleasure, a

Cruz Cafuné and Leïti spend this song caught between two moods: living large and missing someone.

The verses paint a fast, wealthy lifestyle — riding in a Suburban LT, a sold-out merch line, a room at the Abama resort, seventy-band paydays. It is a victory lap, and the artist has no patience for the haters who will keep talking regardless.

But the song's real center is quieter. Twice the hook turns away from the flexing to something more fragile: save the chats and the videos, because if he dies tomorrow, he wants her to still be able to hear his voice. Underneath the bravado is someone thinking about mortality and holding on to a memory of a woman whose perfume still lingers on a pillow.

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