More songs by Luis R Conriquez
More songs by Esau Ortiz
Description
Associated Performer: Luis R Conriquez, Esau Ortiz
Producer, Composer, Associated Performer, Lyricist: Luis R Conriquez
Composer, Associated Performer, Lyricist: Esau Ortiz
Lyricist, Composer, Producer: Meny Méndez
Lyricist, Composer: Manuel Gomez Garza
Lyricist, Composer: Leo Aranda
Producer: Alfredo Becerra
Producer: Leonardo Soto Tovar
Recording Engineer, Mastering Engineer, Mixing Engineer: Manuel Magin
Lyrics and translation
Original
Saliendo del cantón voy montado en el McLaren, se miran las filas de carros cuando voy para andar.
La cadena de un millón, conocido en los lugares por andar cagando el palo cuando me paro en los bares.
Ya saben cómo soy, nunca pregunto los precios, ando full de Louboutin.
Claro que me andan cuidando, hay una casa en el reloj. Los lentecitos Versace porque me miro perrón, no son para ver mejor.
Mijo, no se clave, que si algo no me cuadra no pregunto, corto trueno.
Los putos escares, un polvo de banana y una morra maniacona que ya se la sabe.
Pásame el espejo para hacerme unas lineotas hasta que se acabe, porque quiero pegarme un loquerón.
Mijo, no se clave, que si algo no me cuadra no pregunto, en corto trueno.
Los putos escares, un polvo de banana y una morra maniacona que ya se la sabe.
Pásame el espejo para hacerme unas lineotas hasta que se acabe, porque quiero pegarme un loquerón. La glock en la backpack, no trap, pero playback.
Encapuchado de black, cuánto money en el Maybach. Siempre le parto los tracks, flashback como Shaq.
Se los clavo y nunca fallo, aunque me tire a matar.
Desde que me volví rich ya no me faltan los mili. La cali va llena de humo, siempre prendido los filis.
Una argentina forjando carga flow de mili piri. La saqué de un cabaret, de allá por Miami
City. Se me ha tocado demole, siendo el latin scout.
No me arrimen el cuernito cuando ando arisco. Para darnos a verga yo siempre estoy listo.
Armamento militar que en tu vida has visto. Bien prendidos le metimos un belly West Coast.
Una gringa bien cachonda tirándome al phone. Mami, tengo toda la noche, vamos más slow.
Quiero pegarme la party, respétame el flow.
Mijo, no se clave, que si algo no me cuadra no pregunto, corto trueno.
Los putos escares, un polvo de banana y una morra maniacona que ya se la sabe.
Pásame el espejo para hacerme unas lineotas hasta que se acabe, porque quiero pegarme un loquerón.
Mijo, no se clave, que si algo no me cuadra no pregunto, en corto trueno.
Los putos escares, un polvo de banana y una morra maniacona que ya se la sabe.
Pásame el espejo para hacerme unas lineotas hasta que se acabe, porque quiero pegarme un loquerón.
Y así suena Luis R.
Trackas.
Y su compa Sabor te dice: a la verga, viejo. Trackas. ¡Wuh!
Trackas. Pónganse las pilas, a la verga.
English translation
Leaving the canton I am riding in the McLaren, you look at the rows of cars when I go to walk.
The chain of a million, known in places for walking around shitting the stick when I stop in the bars.
You know how I am, I never ask prices, I'm full of Louboutin.
Of course they are taking care of me, there is a house on the clock. The Versace glasses because I look like a dog, they are not for seeing better.
My son, don't be fooled, if something doesn't fit I don't ask, I'll cut the thunder.
The fucking scars, a banana powder and a maniac bitch that already knows it.
Pass me the mirror so I can make some lines until it's over, because I want to give myself a headache.
My son, don't be fooled, if something doesn't fit I don't ask, in a short burst of thunder.
The fucking scars, a banana powder and a maniac bitch that already knows it.
Pass me the mirror so I can make some lines until it's over, because I want to give myself a headache. The glock in the backpack, not trap, but playback.
Hooded in black, how much money in the Maybach. I always break the tracks, flashback like Shaq.
I nail them and I never miss, even if I try to kill myself.
Since I became rich I no longer lack the military. The cali is full of smoke, the Phillies are always on.
An Argentine forging mili piri flow charge. I took it from a cabaret, back in Miami
City. I have had to deal with it, being the Latin scout.
Don't poke your horn at me when I'm surly. I'm always ready to fuck each other.
Military weapons that you have never seen in your life. Well fired up we put a West Coast belly in it.
A very horny gringa fucking me on the phone. Mommy, I have all night, let's go slower.
I want to party hard, respect my flow.
My son, don't be fooled, if something doesn't fit I don't ask, I'll cut the thunder.
The fucking scars, a banana powder and a maniac bitch that already knows it.
Pass me the mirror so I can make some lines until it's over, because I want to give myself a headache.
My son, don't be fooled, if something doesn't fit I don't ask, in a short burst of thunder.
The fucking scars, a banana powder and a maniac bitch that already knows it.
Pass me the mirror so I can make some lines until it's over, because I want to give myself a headache.
And that's how Luis R sounds.
Trackas.
And his friend Sabor tells you: fuck it, man. Trackas. Whoa!
Trackas. Get your act together, fuck it.