EL CHÁNDAL DE LOS DOMINGOS 2 (part. Recycled J)

Kids of Ruin, yeah
Say, ah, ah (whoa)

Fourth part of the saga, either spit it out or swallow it
We became a legend, made them wanna imitate (ah)
Yesterday with some girls, now I’m all in with Ana
Taking it from Ada to spend it on Adam

What does your fame matter, your Prada, your expensive clothes?
No one’s backing you up, you sell out with 25 tickets (ha)
With a belly and a ticket, babe, tell me, will you love me?
All for the cash, they can’t match that, ha

I’m a killer, three Quinis for rent
Living day by day 'cause my life vanished overnight
Where I grew up, walls with texture
'Cause wanting is power, look at me on TV (let’s go!)

In my pocket a stack, no tickets at the box office
Whoever gets cocky, gets caught, and these rappers act tough
I’m KILOMETROZERO, fuck 8 Mile (yes!)
The blue crutch, the Chanel, the Cardhu and the chair (yeah, yeah)

I’ve been pissing champagne all morning
And a message from Gareta that I owe him 1,000 bucks
At 104 degrees drinking 104 proof
Among leather, thugs, and punks without a degree

Some thought they’d knock us off the throne
15 years later, the joke tells itself (ha)
Kids of Ruin at the top of the podium
If we already sound flawless, imagine us sober

On my sole there’s more pavement than in downtown streets
And in my soundcheck more people than at your concert (uh)
Few know the beginning of the story
Leaving mouths shut on open mics (shh)

Sometimes I flex but just a little
'Cause my car’s more expensive than the one I rent for the video (ha)
And what do I care about your chains and your rings?
My crew doesn’t wear chains, they wear anklets

Yo
[?] the ass here
[?] a heat you wouldn’t believe
The Sunday tracksuit, me
[?] with Waor

Your boy Richiclato, the one who spits doubles
The king of the hook, ha: Mister, Hooker
In the center, pigs with badges like Duke Nukem
Peace to Devod Dealers, to Gadafi, La Trupe (waor)

You grew up with me, call me Shinnosuke
More concerts on my back than on your booker’s
Appearances can be deceiving, ha, school shooter
You’re on unemployment, I always knew it

I walk through the club in a tracksuit, in my vibe
Then I dress in Prada to walk around the house
Used to go down to the plaza, now I go down to the two-seater
But it’s not about the cash, it’s about who you spend it with (yo)

Years go by and I’m like a fine red wine (ha)
Girls on the street tell me I look good
I drive the wrong way in a damn Series 5
With red eyes and the Sunday tracksuit.