En Bajita - Mora, Young Martino

Cambiando el clima pa' que el dinero empiece a llover

Vivir como un narco, sin un kilo mover (Wuh)

Quiero un privado y no estoy hablando de ir al putero

Esas llegan a casa, y sin pedir dinero

El cuello siempre bajo cero, que digan: «Ese e' kilero'»

Mi lápiz es el pincel de Donatello

Viste que escupo fuego si me da la gana (Wuh)

En un Lambo tirando chavo' por la ventana

Que me falte el dinero, no la gente que me ama

Porque hay herida', que ni con dinero se sanan, no

No creo en relacione', no;

no creo en amore', no

Pero si quiere' echamo' un polvo, ma', cómo no, yeh

Un saludo especial a lo que picharon

De que arriba no se ven, José Feliciano, yah

¿Pa' qué bajarle?

Aprieta tú (Uh)

Millonario o en un ataú' (En un atáu')

Perdona si te incomoda mi actitu'

Es que no me llevo con la multitu'

Y aquí le' traje' medio pocillo de aperitivo'

Conmigo no salen, cabrone', ni en colectivo

Siempre en bajita, pero haciendo ruido

Y no se lo mamo a nadie pa' buscar sonido

Siguen hablando de mí, denme importancia

En baja con los ojos como si soy de Asia

Con Martino por Miami, la baby es de Francia

To’a esta gente me copia y ni me dan las gracia', no

Yo-Yo-Young Martino

Changing the weather so that the money starts to rain

Live like a narco, without moving a kilo (Wuh)

I want a private and I'm not talking about going to the whorehouse

Those arrive home, and without asking for money

The neck is always below zero, they say: «That e' kilero'»

My pencil is Donatello's brush

You saw that I spit fire if he feels like it (Wuh)

In a Lambo throwing kid out the window

That I lack the money, not the people who love me

Because there is a wound, that not even with money can be healed, no

I don't believe in relationships, no;

I don't believe in amore', no

But if you want 'let's take' a powder, ma', of course, yeh

A special greeting to what they pitched

That they can't be seen upstairs, José Feliciano, yah

Why lower him?

You squeeze (Uh)

Millionaire or in a coffin' (In a coffin')

Sorry if my attitude bothers you'

It's just that I don't get along with the crowd

And here I 'brought' you 'half a cup of aperitif'

They don't go out with me, you bastard, not even in a group

Always low, but making noise

And I don't suck it to anyone to look for sound

They keep talking about me, give me importance

On low with eyes like I'm from Asia

With Martino in Miami, the baby is from France

All these people copy me and they don't even thank me, no

Yo-Yo-Young Martino