I know my rhymes sometimes make people
uncomfortable,
when my neurons start running,
even I get scared.
My answers can be so
agressive,
that even lyrics run away from me,
because they fear that I write them.
I have no guns to kill you
it's enough with a track.
I turn lyrics into ideas, like
an illusionist.
With just a line I kill you, I break you,
I hurt you, and in the next one,
I bring you back to life
by naming you.
That's a part of my art,
to let everyone know
these rhymes are for you even without
saying your name.
And I'm not hiding it to avoid fight,
it's just I don't want to make you famous
in the countries where no one knows you.
I've already seen how
war and guerrillas work,
do you think I'll be scared
of your gang?
Shoot when you want, little malicious
rapper,
here, criminals don't win,
wins the cleverest.
In your head, you're a drug dealer,
and police looks for you,
and your guns are like
unicorns.
Pure fantasy.
I don't mind that you have
some imaginary enemies,
but I do when little kids
think that you're a hitman.
You haven't went through a fucking
real difficulty.
In your whole life, you had school,
you had food.
If the people from Congo
had the same opportunities you had,
they'll be graduating from the
best colleges.
If I take you to the
African central,
after the war, you'll be out
singing christian songs.
Your little rapper outfit,
your little baseball cap, and your
little crook's chain
get melt by the sun.
Or should I take you to Syria,
so you can feel the bombs,
to let you see how
little kids
were left without arms?
What would you do when your kid
gets caught at the disco
and, without mercy, an AK
blows his head off?
Or what would you do when your brother's face
gets erased in a brutal way?
Or when your sweetheart
gets killed with a .40mm?
You're a stupid asshole rapping
about blowing brains out,
in a country where you get killed
when you steal a dime.
I'm not a saint while rapping,
of course I'm no knight.
Sometime while I was rhyming,
I hung ten sailors.
But that's a different case, I incited
chaos,
because when tyranny is law,
revolution is order.
[chorus]
Inside, inside,
I shoved it inside of you.
So you want to fight? I have some
riddles for you.
I get scared by cockroaches,
and by lizards.
My music won't play
in Puerto Rico's fucking radio for years,
I've released five albums,
and I'm still not rich.
Some people call me communist,
demagogue, a hundred percent.
The far right hates me,
the far left too.
My sexual performance
is lowest as the floor.
After I made fun of bald men,
my hair is falling off.
I called the Governor a "son of a bitch",
and even if he deserved it,
inside, I regret it
and never told anyone until now.
Before I understood inequality
of people,
I bought a Maserati.
It was second-hand, and now it doesn't work.
My credit is fucked,
I can't even buy a coffee.
That's why to pay another month,
I rather go on foot.
I'm like boxers,
I can't handle money.
I invest everything I have in my career,
because art comes first.
I'm the slowest in my family,
I'm not very bright. I fight
for education
and I was never a good student.
I'm scared of planes.
I like politics.
And even if I say that I don't care,
criticism hurts me.
My best friend
was killed in a police station.
I have so many things to write,
but so little paper.
My honesty is transparent,
you can see through me
with just looking at me.
And you can fight me
and give your best shot,
but, to be honest,
I'm the best at this.
[chorus]
Inside, inside,
I shoved it inside of you.