Bacalao

Bacalao Mira, Bacalao Caught a codfish, no bitch allowed Every time I pull up, someone else is lookin jealous now Get a rag, someone gonna have to wring you out Heart so cold, fake gold, don't you know Que el mal te hará feo Ella probablemente no tiene suficiente auto contenido Robando el crédito por la fama Bandido I be like ikuyo Aikido El ruido de ti tropezando Cuándo no Mayor que toda, mayor que toda Pero todavía no me importa una joda Déjalo, tranquilo No es su estilo Pero te gusta ser el objetivo I'm on the come up She tryna run up I get my sum up Brrumpa-pum-pum-up Quieres ser mezquina (Mezquina) Caiste en la trampa, nińa (Niña) I'mma-I'mma-I'm ya leader (Leader) Somethin' that you never seen, ya Now you can't compete, ya Ahora, soy la Puta Reina Necesitas disciplina Es una pena Que ambas estemos Latina (Latina) Now you're weak In your sleep With your lies That you speak And your cries On repeat Yuh, yuh, yuh I got beef I got beef I got beef Dat gyal so bad All da boys skeet, skeet Ándale, ándale And she not the only one Ándale, ándale Sad Papi with the gun Keep fronting with bitches, yea Cross-faded with a blunt Keep preaching fake phrases, yea You ain't the Holy Son Eliminate All da fools who wrong done me All they want is one night for fun You'll see Oh, Mirror, Mirror Tell me what the f*ck you'll see Oh, gracious me No academic degree Smoking more tree Fame don't come for free That's a big mood No te deseo buena salud Es un virtud, no tienes actitud Ah, si Ah, si Es todo acerca de ti Please excuse me You know I don't give it easy It takes a lot to go and please me Windows up, hot box And those new Nike socks Driving 'round the block Posing like you got a lot Now this old guy thinking he can Pop the lock Well, this news for you I'm not just some shit on stock Lemme get the Glock Lemme get the Glock poppin' You pay the full price This is not a fuckin' drop-in Te estoy llamando Escuchando Te mirando Compitiendo Yo espero que estés llorando Oh no Look at that Ya girl just got another fuckin' award I got the rack Her chest flatter than a billboard I'm getting stacks While he sit back and relax with the snacks getting fat Yuh, yuh, yuh Ruck it up, up Ruck it-ruck it up, up He think he know what's up So he put the glove up I don't play ball But I gotta batter up When he try to slide in He ain't home running it up Too much Yeah, ya know I'm too much Only way I'm interested is if you my crush I'm goin' up I'm goin' up, yuh I'm goin' up Yuh I'm goin' up, yuh Busta'!