Below is the lyrics of the song Shooters , artist - Yulian with translation
Original text with translation
Yulian
La Mafia The Creator
Yeah, yeah
Yulian
MAFIA (brr, brr, yeah)
Aprendan mis hijo
Tengo tiradore' arriba el rufo, papeles verde sin identidad
Caja de bala que ya no uso, mucha de alta calidad
Tengo tiradore' arriba el rufo, papeles verde sin identidad
Caja de bala que ya no uso, mucha de alta calidad (brrrr)
Tengo tiradore' arriba el rufo, papeles verde sin identidad
Caja de bala que ya no uso, mucha de alta calidad (brrrr)
Tengo tiradore' arriba el rufo, papeles verde sin identidad
Caja de bala que ya no uso, mucha de alta calidad
Cuando salimo' yo siempre abuso porque a mi me gusta to la ropa italiana
El Ziploc lleno de verde tirao' en la cama
Por el tejido cubano parezco de La Habana
Presidende a lo Obama (ma boss)
Te dice que ta' en su casa y me llama
Conocen el de cali' son pura colombiana
Con lo bolo y la cadena pichando en la mañana
Negro hablamo mañana (swerve)
Tengo que me odia y me ama
Ahora que me duermo uno no sabe mañana
Lo cocolo moreno que a ti te pasan la plana
Me olvide por la Xanax (gang)
The Mafia The Creator
yeah yeah
Yulian
MAFIA (brr, brr, yeah)
learn my son
I have a shooter above the rufo, green papers without identity
Bullet box I no longer use, lots of high quality
I have a shooter above the rufo, green papers without identity
Bullet box that I no longer use, a lot of high quality (brrrr)
I have a shooter above the rufo, green papers without identity
Bullet box that I no longer use, a lot of high quality (brrrr)
I have a shooter above the rufo, green papers without identity
Bullet box I no longer use, lots of high quality
When we go out I always abuse because I like all Italian clothes
The Ziploc full of green tirao' on the bed
Because of the Cuban fabric I look like I'm from Havana
Preside like Obama (ma boss)
He tells you that he is at his house and he calls me
They know the one from Cali' they are pure Colombian
With the gig and the chain pitching in the morning
Black talk tomorrow (swerve)
I have to hate me and love me
Now that I fall asleep one does not know tomorrow
The brown cocolo that they pass the flat to you
I forgot for the Xanax (gang)
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