MONSTRUO plunges us into a steamy night in Puerto Rico where attraction turns almost supernatural. Tainy and Feid paint the scene: the sun has set, the bass is heavy, and the woman in question rarely goes out, making her appearance feel special. The singer cannot resist her pull. The moment they lock eyes, he warns that her presence awakens his inner monstruo, a wild alter-ego that dominates the dance floor and promises unforgettable perreo. The repetitive hook “la rompo” (I break it) underlines how completely he plans to tear up the night, both in dance and in intimacy. He flatters her, offers to pay her bills, and brags that he can replace any ex who overlooked her. Each line drips with confidence, sensuality, and the playful slang of the Caribbean club scene: parche (party), diache (surprised exclamation), se pica like Tabasco.
Yet tucked amid the bravado is a brief glimpse of vulnerability. After the adrenaline rush, he pleads “que nunca me faltes” (never leave me). This twist suggests that beneath the monster mask lies genuine fear of losing the connection. MONSTRUO, therefore, is more than a party anthem; it is a snapshot of modern romance where raw desire, swagger, and hidden tenderness collide under neon lights.