VOL. 3

Good morning, good afternoon, good night
Depends on where in the world you’re listening
How’s it going? Everything good? Hope so
I’m here walking through downtown Madrid

I’m heading to the studio, I said 10 o'clock
I’m meeting my brother for volume 3
Even though I’m running a bit late, it’s already 12:10
Dani, start recording, I’ll jump in later

And while I’m on my way, what can I tell you?
What can we talk about? Let me think for a moment
We could talk about winning and spending
About traveling and partying, cars and concerts

But I say all that in my songs all the time
And even if it’s true, and I never lie to you
I’d rather talk about all that another time, by the way
What do you say, dude? That I don’t sound the same anymore?

What do you want me to do, make commercial music?
Commercial music is just like a shopping mall
There’s one in every neighborhood and they’re all the same
They dress the same, move the same, sing all the same, just as bad

I’m not an artist, I’m just a regular guy
I don’t wear a mask even for Carnival
In love with this, I don’t care about the rank
To be honest, I don’t care about being number one

Second or third, fourth or sixteenth
I’m not looking to be a champ, just want to be happy, man
Today we’re celebrating
Because I tricked sadness and depression

And buried them in a box just like Tapión did
And tore down the walls of my room
They had me locked up like a pressure
I didn’t heal with therapy or medication

I healed listening to Paco and Camarón
You know how I am
At night I talk to the Moon
And I go to bed when the Sun comes up

And I’ve got more clothes in my closet than Zalando
I’m not a climber, but I’m climbing
From my room to the studio, from the studio to the stadium
From the stadium to your house and from your house to your lips

From broke to middle class, from middle to millionaire
Because time is gold, and I don’t have a schedule
In the Bimma listening to Manzanita or Sicario
The forty newcomers that are playing on the radio

I leave them for you (for you), for those who leave hate in the comments
For those who took this seriously
For being lost, now they have bad luck
Since they crossed paths with a black cat

Dora, I love you even if I don’t see you much
It’s just that I’m in Madrid, heart in pieces, looks like Gaudí
Even if it hurts, it’s beautiful, I can share it
With you, I always carry a piece saved in my pocket

In case I see you in Fuencarral or Bravo Murillo, oh, oh
Your eyes are like knives, oh, oh
I-I-I always carry a piece saved in my pocket
In case I see you in Fuencarral or Bravo Murillo, oh, oh

Your eyes are like knives, oh, oh