Beretta

I want to cross off my list
Never get back on your Insta
I want to cross off my list
Hooking up with four girls in a room
Before I end up in the grave
I see people differently
They don’t talk to me all year, then want to be on my list
Just like that
Then they say I’ve changed, we’re not on the same page
I don’t care about that shit anymore
We have different points of view

You’re driving, I’m in the back
With tinted windows
This is sport, not vintage vibes
I know this by heart, I’m not a tourist
Yesterday I was sad, had to cry like the main character
I’m seeing my face in magazines
I wink at the journalist
I’m riding the wave, bitch, like Batistuta
So step aside, crazy girl
Put down the coke and bring your lips closer
Cutie, with your tricks you weaken me
You can ride a Vespa
But I want a Bemeta
With 8 gears, shifting hard, pushing the fifth, forcing the sixth
I blow where I want, I move the weathervane
I’m dying for your tits
Give me a Beretta, I’ll shoot at close range at the secret

I’m lost on the street, thinking of you
Getting high to forget you
Madrid center on the way to Caraban
Passing by Cuatro Ca, writing this while coming back from Viñarroka
My soul tells me to spill
My heart begs me to ditch the coke
It’s one o’clock, the non-rappers say they move weight
I have the air at 17, the white stuff is at 15 now

Your girl’s hitting on me
She says I’m the gossip of your crew
I don’t want to pull the gun
I make a call and they bring her to the puskas
In Madrid we know each other, you’re a fake
I got people in Tres Can, in Illescas, in Recas
Bro, just a call and I show up in Vallecas
We live off the ads like David Beckham
I set your skin on fire, that’s from talking

We’re going hard like Boca fans
Sometimes you find it even when you’re not looking
They’re out on the street picking up trash
In Casa de Campo my grandpa taught me what a whore was
The older ones taught me what a hangover was
They’ll scrape up a pipe before asking for help
My little bro is lost
He prays to Buddha
Sweats through his hoodie, losing Sudan
His girl calls him but he doesn’t care
He feels like trash
I invite him for some veggies
He tells me all his debts
I lend him cash to pay some off
I’ve been there, trusting pure

I’m not gonna judge you, life is tough
But at the same time a gift, what a madness

Life is tough, huh, but at the same time a gift, what a madness