Bajo y Batería Lyrics In English Translation - Residente
[Verse 1]
I love it, haha
I love it
I love it
I love letting them run freely through the meadow
Making them feel like they have their whole life ahead
And when they're almost reaching the border
I pull out the wooden pencil and blow their heads off
I'm the whip that lacerates your skin
The fucking overseer at the sugar mill
I'm the last thing you'll see before you die
The hospital ceiling, the nurse's face
I devour this calf from its tenderloin to its ribs, I even eat the skull
The tail, the neck, nothing is left on the plate
Even Shakira loses her hips
I come with the axe in the glove compartment
Like a Native American scalping
I make them wave the flag behind the trench
While the Residents cool down in the refrigerator
I've swept them away so much when it comes to rhyming
That now the witches don't have brooms to fly
Without exaggeration
I've swept them away so much that I'll have to go to another solar system
I sweep them horizontally, vertically, even perpendicularly
No one in the urban genre smiles at me anymore
Because I turned their teeth into a necklace
Now a line of losers tries
To figure out how to pay next month's rent
Because I mention them only once
And I feed them for a month
These tongue-waggers drool, saying I'm not a rapper
But nobody wants to fight against the second, third, or fourth, everyone wants the first
You prove me right
In this pantheon, everyone wants to fight the champion
They don't even reach the Fifth Step
Their pants fall because my belt is too big for them
Not among the top thirty, bastard
Not even with sign language can you join the conversation
Not even with the death penalty do you have good execution
Not even if you beg Omar, you don't have the gift
Today the population is going to increase
Because I'm going to give it to you until the condom breaks
Now, without further interruption
Cosculluela, here's your mention to pay child support
Every day this gangster with a napkin
Closes his little eyes and clenches his fists
He makes a wish to the comets
That one day the secret police will chase him
He would like to be the most wanted
Together with his gang: "The White Panthers of Humacao"
From his porcelain neighborhood
He has wet dreams about Tony Montana
His fantasies with his pistols
Are full of fairy godmothers, elves, and dragons
What I like the most
Is that he thinks his warm egg look scares us
He thinks he intimidates people
With his divorced lady face
No matter how hard he paddles, his boat sinks
He wants to be a big shot and a priest at the same time
This buddy is confused
He reads the Bible but hits his wife on the head
With his invented religion
He hits pregnant women
Throws them to the ground
No matter how much you pray, pigs like you don't go to heaven
No one believes you anymore
Well, only those who spell "Residente" with a C
And a couple of bloggers
The more reggaeton they are, the more absurd they become
They told me I rhyme "Fonalleda" with "silk"
And how do I rhyme it? With "ass," you damn sniffer?
These fools have been after me since I came out in 2005
I've never seen an elephant fly
Neither have I seen Maiky Backstage do a relevant interview
They're frustrated singers who never made it
They talk about cooking, but they never cooked
The opinions of these scholars are worthless
And Révol with his wrinkled testicle face
Anyway, these are the ones who applauded you
And the Balvin fanatics who are still hurt
[Verse 2]
Well, getting back to the initial theme
I'm still talking about that cop who trusts the judicial system
Who says that Tego doesn't give it to me
I don't need Tego's permission to tear you apart at Christmas
Damn talker
If you knew what Tego thinks of you, you wouldn't have written that line
You're the only idiot in the label
Who admitted to having tasted camel piss
Poor Santa
The bug and the camel's two balls went through his throat
While they were writing the song for him
They filled his mouth with piss, and he came to the conclusion
The man with ass hairs on his head
Who thought the piss tasted like my beer
This chopstick amuses me
I replied, and he went out to make a t-shirt
Not worth even a penny
You can't even open a croquette kiosk
Your career is in a coma with artificial respiration
It doesn't turn on even with jumper cables
It doesn't turn on even with a hundred bottles of mezcal
Parrots shooting in the air and regional music
It doesn't turn on even with an aluminum oven
Shooting at you is like, hmm, ah, shooting at nothing
You'll be great after you're buried
The day Benny Benni can pronounce the R
Rrr, literally
Three sad tigers eat wheat in the wheat field
Yes, the AK, yes, the Beretta, yes, the *****, yes, the shotguns
Tell ***** that Resi respects him the day he learns to write a complete sentence
Because I'm the wording that penetrates like a bullet
When I turn my bullets into lyrics
I break these thugs more than Alejandro's broken heart
They want to mess with what I am and what I was
Now I bring them more war than Juan Luis
With the pencil, I shoot to kill
When I get hostile, I raise the [R] in the profile
And they tremble more than Anitta's buttocks in the carnival of Brazil
I'm fucking Chernobyl
Like North Korea, always with my finger on the missile button
I kill him, and he doesn't see it coming
With the lunch knife like in my youth
Because he lacks ability, he lacks skill
And he's dumber than April Fools' Day
This paper gangster is so stupid
That everyone knows "Inside" is for him, except him
He throws bars that he himself didn't believe
What torments you since "Inside" came out is me
"An idealist without ideas," that punchline amazed me
Like a cattle ranch without cattle
Like a war without soldiers
Like a barbecue without meat
Like a future without a past
Like the caliber I calibrate, very creative
You're like a bookstore without books
[Verse 3]
When I mention Trooko
Mueka's face melts on his shoulders
This overweight weevil is very lazy
He has so much cheek that he no longer has an eye
His ass face is a theater piece
He opens his mouth and it looks like he's on all fours
Another one who thinks he's a commoner
I'm going to tear off a piece of the trunk to give him a neck
This can get violent, physical
Even though I'm like the Pacific Ocean
To the traitors, if they provoke me
We'll take a little tour of Villa Margarita
Me, settled accounts, Trujillo supports me
Bryan and El Maníaco watching my back
I break these little thugs
They don't even reach me with their best jump because Trujillo is tall
I never shot, but I always wrote
I'm not from the streets, but my crew is
I dismantle you piece by piece
Prrum, if you catch me on the street, lower your head
The problem isn't that I've been rich since I was a kid
It's simple, let me explain it
The problem is that an arrogant guy like him
Pretended to be from a neighborhood where he wasn't born
Disguising himself as a thug to the core
And with his music motivating them to kill each other
Flaunting and kicking like a filly
Those who end up on the streets didn't have another choice
But this carousel jockey
Who grew up eating at a table with a tablecloth
While the neighborhood he boasts about ate paper
He had his mouth full of cake
Your last name is not from the streets, dear
It's as if the Montaners started singing narcocorridos
Let me sum it up for you:
It's like someone from San Isidro, a pretender like no other
Someone who never missed a breakfast
Thinks they're from Villa 31
But this golden crib lamb
Thinks he's a bull because he hit his ex-wife against the toilet
That's why your career is deteriorating
Like "dinosaur" rhymes with "meteor"
[Outro]
I've vented already
Now I'm going to quit all the disses, yeah
I won't diss anyone else
I swear, I promise, yeah
It's over, I don't care, motherfuckers
Enough! Enough!
I want to be a ballad singer
I want to be a ballad singer like, like, like Ricky Martin
I want to be a ballad singer.
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