René is Residente’s most personal song, a seven-minute diary that invites us to jump on a time machine. It opens with his mother quizzing little René about Taíno baseball, then travels through bike rides in muddy streets, homemade flamenco shows, and childhood friendships that ended in tragedy. Each memory is delivered over a tender piano loop, while the playful chant “Cabeza, rodilla, muslos y cadera” circles back like a school-yard rhyme, reminding us of the innocence he is searching for.
As the verses move forward, the tone darkens. Residente confesses to insomnia, divorce papers, IRS audits, and the crushing loneliness that can hide behind sold-out arenas. He questions the music industry’s lies, mourns loved ones lost, and wonders if the price of fame is worth it. Yet the song is not only a lament; it is a love letter to Puerto Rico and to the boy he used to be. By the end, his biggest wish is simple: to go home, play baseball with his friends, and feel real again. “René” turns vulnerability into strength, showing that sometimes the bravest act is admitting that you want to go back to where your heart started.