Hijos de la ruina (part. Recycled J)

If I'm the guy of your dreams, you're screwed
Neither a rapper nor a punk, I'm a Son of Ruin
Don't call me an artist, I'm way out there, girl
I got crystal in my drink and a buzz you can't even imagine

Don't mess with my head, you'll just confuse me
I could love you, but I don't know how to do it
One girl a day, one bullet per cop
I don't want to be on top if I don't have you right here

Hey, gorgeous, with the pen, I got precision
I write without pressure or muse
It's an obligation, neither work nor hobby
Give me smoke and I chill, you know, sa-sa-sa-sa

Kissing your mouth, your tits, your pussy, and that excuse
Who said hurry?
They can break my face 20 times
I'll only cry if you don't kiss me

Skinny cows, chubby legs
What's up, what the fuck, me and my white girls
I don't wear a bandana, I got burundanga
So watch your back, your legs, and your kicks

Rolling hash, camping gas, Sons of Ruin
Lemur dust to your belly
I send fu in the bunker at vermouth time
While I pretend to be all livin' so you'll take me

Liquin, troquin, Sons of Ruin
Chedder, chelen, Sons of Ruin
Kinkys, loopings, Sons of Ruin
Burning up the room, burning the days

Liquin, troquin, Sons of Ruin
Chedder, chelen, Sons of Ruin
Kinkys, loopings, Sons of Ruin
Burning up the room, burning the days

Girl I touch, girl I fall for
To participate, I don't play, cousin, I'm going for gold
In the palm, the Moor's stuff, mixing it with Marlboro
And in my eyes, the passage of time, dying slowly

I already told you that you'd come back
But I also told you that by then it would be too late, girl
I don't do many things in my life
But at least what I do, I do well
And I cut out the nonsense

Every time I hate you all more
They lie to you while looking you in the eyes
And me, the more sane I get, the crazier I become
If I freak out, I tell the paper, not the shrink

I, nothing to do with you
Here the chicken lasts less than a hen
I cut the cod because I'm going in hard
And I break my dick if you don't get the vibe

Chin-Chin-Chingona Trupe, C double, the one who spits
In the midfield like Bernd Schuster
Rising like a high
Long like a Renault Coupé

Come harder, Betty, more than in the Cooper test
Fast, faster your key hit
From the shout to the choke
You’re gonna burn this job
With no fucking idea of the conditions we record in

Liquin, troquin, Sons of Ruin
Chedder, chelen, Sons of Ruin
Kinkys, loopings, Sons of Ruin
Burning up the room, burning the days

Liquin, troquin, Sons of Ruin
Chedder, chelen, Sons of Ruin
Kinkys, loopings, Sons of Ruin
Burning up the room, burning the days