PRÓCERES MUERTOS (part. Auge)

I roll my stash from the bottom like Thundercat
Today I’m flexing my frontal lobe, throwing uppercuts
It’s the truth, that slang hits hard, it’ll be my metal
I know how to turn pain into pleasure, even intertwine them
In the jungle, you’re born with an ace in your veins
And not expecting too much from that sphere turns you into a hustler
It’ll be dinner, the arsenal that makes me hustle
Light, bring me cash, I know how to fish where jazz is born
God, grant me health, I’ll handle the rest
Blessed by the guru’s vibe, be my talisman
An architect in his manifesto exhumes his time
With words that bleed knowledge
On Mondays, I detect the tunnel of the text
And the perfect puzzle pops up from my body
The crosses I placed have an effect, polishing specters and uniting in this
On days I see the light like a shooter from the center

True history of my life, movement
That shit gets me high, I go and come back
Money on my mind, in the capital
I gotta do more, I’m running out of time (uh, yeah)

The magic, the light in your tragic moment
Words without the weight of the soul burn fast
Joints B-I-G, my work, God looks at me
His conspiracy in my favor so I keep going
Flowers, the taste of flowers, sparks, detonators
Born with love and make me value it now
They capture the pain of poor hearts
Big shots forge goal scorers
If time steps on their heels
Spinning testing genetics through the capital
I hacked brains with the new math
South American soccer, tricks I gotta sharpen
I infiltrated their system and decoded the machine
Kids planted silver trees
Keep listening to me, I’m explaining what it’s about
Who’s there if the chaos breaks loose?
Traces on the map
Plans orchestrating behind while they’re not rescued, they are

True history of my life, movement
That shit gets me high, I go and come back
Money on my mind, in the capital
I gotta do more, I’m running out of time

I carry the blowgun in this wild jungle
I water the plot for pleasure if the Malbec runs out
The bill is clear, today honey flows under spoken science
Thus legends of the cassette make glaze on katanas
Graphic sex for the sake of wordiness
From my pencil to the specter on the retro Macintosh
Volatile power, two beats and I orchestrate fast
There’s no other ambidextrous ten with these classics

Respect the true
Sweet like Celia Cruz, project light (the light)
Skill that passes between the crews, Shang Tsung cut (what?)
Let Doom return, inked in the tattoo
The loop bursts
Mental mood, black magic through the blue mist
I wake up, I’m the jaguar in the five hundred
The routine of love, the heat in winter
Machines under the skin and I’m not Terminator
I cut the wind, I experiment, crate investigator

Polo Alligator, I drug them with my food
From my fingertips, I read everything like architects
Hostage, hostage of my time, God is selective
I know that in bills and blocks there are dead heroes

True history of my life, movement
That shit gets me high, I go and come back
Money on my mind, in the capital
I gotta do more, I’m running out of time
True history of my life, movement
That shit gets me high, I go and come back
Money on my mind, in the capital
I gotta do more, I’m running out of time