Paroles et traduction El Kalvo - Ampolla

Ampolla

Que fantocheria
Parecen una revista de esas de catalogo
Todas llenas de marcas

Tienen cara de susto, un pasado culposo
Se dejan la barba y se creen viejos
Pero son peladitos disfrazados de malos
Que se tatúan primero un cachete que el pecho

Y yo no las pico de cucho
Pero empecé desde chinche
Hice mi estilo chabakan inconfundible
Y no hablo mucho al respecto, lo demuestro
Cosa que no pasa con muchos raperos

Que hablan de lo buenos que son rimando
Mientras hablan de lo bueno que son rimando
El viejo truco del tema moja cuco
Chicaniando su profundo conocimiento en cultura pop

No hay congruencia en su perorata
Mierda aleatoria superficial
Yo escribo sin acudir al diccionario
Tu ni haciendo trampa tienes sentido
No emociona rima facil sin fondo ni contenido

Se hicieron famosos con beats gringos sin dar créditos
Fusilando punch lines y copiandose los videos
Los novatos te creerán el cuento
Yo no me asombro tanto
Si se reconoce a leguas de quien te estas copiando

Sus mejores ponches son citas y les faltan las comillas
Compararse hace a cualquier gil gigante
Nacieron en el país equivocado
Que ganas tan berracas de ser gringos
Posando en un carro prestado

Vamos a romantizar el supermercado
Yo tambien soy un narco frustrado
Afuera samplean el folklor colombiano
Y aquí no dejan sano el soul norteamericano

Esa nostalgia por los noventas hay que superarla
Como van a hacer historia si no hacen si no copiarla
El país quemandose y ellos hablando de sus tenis
Todos tan marqueros y tan fansis
Putos fictis
Para mi son maniquíes fanfarrones wanna be
Su rima perfecta es cansona y fácil de predecir
No hacen sino defenderse puro repitis
En mi city no se gana de prity
Me cago en su espanglish

Si alguna vez usara un sombrero
Sacaria de mi sombrero un tablero
Un marcador y un borrador para tirartelo
Hasta el fondo del salón niño canson
Soy tu maestro, tu un florero pura decoración

Y ahora estas descalabrado
Pelliscandote el bigote
Sonriendo socarrón, creyendo que no es contigo
Los que se sientan aludidos
Seguro ya no serán tan cálidos
Cuando se encuentren con migo

Por jugar a santeros se los llevara el biruñas
Al final por lucas terminan haciendo cuñas
Se hacen los tontos para hacer trap?
Niños hablan de salsa y no saben bailar

No te achantes tanto que esto no es tan personal
Solo me fastidie, pero realmente no me importa
El rap es una caja de arena para jugar
Ustedes van con balde y palita
Yo soy de los que escarba hasta quedarse sin uñas

Estas solo son pullas
No te revientes la ampolla
Esa medalla no es tuya
Sigue peleando por pollas, eternamente entuzados

No te revientes la ampolla
Estas son solo puyas
Esa medalla no es suya

Blister

What a charade.
You all look like one of those catalog magazines.
Full of brands.

You've got scared faces, a guilty past.
You grow beards and think you're old.
But you're just little hairless boys disguised as bad guys.
Getting a mustache tattooed before your chest.

And I don't go picking on you like a sucker,
But I started from the bottom,
Made my own unmistakable street style,
And I don't talk much about it, I show it,
Which doesn't happen with a lot of rappers.

Who talk about how good they are at rhyming,
While they're talking about how good they are at rhyming.
The old trick of the "wet cuckoo" theme,
Flaunting their deep knowledge of pop culture.

There's no consistency in your rantings.
Random, superficial crap.
I write without resorting to the dictionary.
You can't even make sense when you cheat.
Easy rhymes with no substance or content don't move anyone.

You got famous using gringo beats without giving credit.
Stealing punchlines and copying videos.
The newbies will buy your story.
I'm not that surprised.
It's obvious who you're copying.

Your best punches are quotes and they're missing the quotation marks.
Comparing yourself makes any fool look like a giant.
You were born in the wrong country.
What a pathetic desire to be gringos.
Posing in a borrowed car.

Let's romanticize the supermarket.
I'm a frustrated narco too.
Out there they're sampling Colombian folklore,
And here you're not leaving North American soul alone.

You gotta get over that nineties nostalgia.
How are you gonna make history if you don't do anything but copy it?
The country's burning and they're talking about their sneakers.
All so brand-obsessed and fancy.
Fucking fake.
To me you're just bragging mannequins, wannabes.
Your perfect rhyme is tiresome and predictable.
All you do is defend yourselves, pure repetition.
In my city, you don't win by being pretty.
I shit on your Spanglish.

If I ever wore a hat,
I'd pull out a chalkboard from my hat,
A marker and an eraser to throw at you
To the back of the classroom, you annoying kid.
I'm your teacher, you're just a vase, pure decoration.

And now you're all messed up,
Scratching your mustache,
Smiling smugly, thinking it's not about you.
Those who feel alluded to
Probably won't be so warm
When they meet me.

Playing saints will get you in trouble.
In the end, you'll end up doing shady shit for money.
Are you playing dumb to make trap?
Kids talk about salsa and they don't know how to dance.

Don't get so worked up, this isn't that personal.
I just got annoyed, but I don't really care.
Rap is a sandbox to play in.
You guys go with a bucket and spade.
I'm the one who digs until my nails are gone.

These are just taunts.
Don't get a blister.
That medal isn't yours.
Keep fighting for chicks, eternally excited.

Don't get a blister.
These are just taunts.
That medal isn't yours.