Текст и перевод песни Zaque feat. Hassyel - Una Tarde Cualquiera

Una Tarde Cualquiera

(Negro por favor, no estamos en Coachella esperando a que haga efecto
El éxtasis para revolcarnos en el lodo y esperar
A que el holograma de Tupac nos haga sentir cosas)

Tarde cualquiera, domingo, playera,
Voz, Michael Kors, dos de a veinticinco
Y así no falta quién le mercas de uno y medio
Y a la voz, a la voz la doy en cien,
Me armo
Dos lattes, got some kisses, forjo un perso y
Mientras exhalo logro el verso
En la Barber o en el parque
Y que la Poli hommie no nos van encontrar embarque
A pesar que,
Si que hay skunk y huelo a una mezcla entre blunt y ck one
Este es mi deporte, luego de darte porte con un recorte
Son, las 8 me descorcho en el boom bap
Estas bitches don't know me pero me piden un track
Rapeo, no mamadas, no palabreo,
En esto creo y eso es lo que me llevo a la tumba
Mi visión muda, experiencia sorda, mi vista aguda, mi letra gorda
Bitches, querían venderme raps a mi,
Me tachan falso, no acostumbran ver billetes de a mil
Y yo se porqué and I got no time for this shit
Si tengo un angel hermoso, pelirrojo en corsette que
Me hace sentir dentro del rojo corvette
Como mi primera vez de mis raps en cassettes
Así que no rapeé, al final dije jódanse, igual tú y tu crew
Fuck that shit.

Sunday Afternoon

(Excuse me, honey, we're not at Coachella waiting for
The ecstasy to kick in so we can roll around in the dirt and wait
For a Tupac hologram to make us feel something)

Sunday afternoon, t-shirt,
Voice, Michael Kors, two for twenty-five
And so, there are many that buy from you for a dollar and a half
And as for the voice, I give it at a hundred,
I arm myself
Two lattes, got some kisses, forged a person and
As I exhale, I achieve the verse
At the barbershop or in the park
And may the police, man, not find us boarding
Even though
There is some skunk and I smell a mix of blunt and CK One
This is my sport, after giving you style with a haircut
It's 8 o'clock, I uncork myself in the boom bap
These bitches don't know me but they ask me for a track
I rap, no bullshit, no lip service,
I believe in this and that's what I'll take to the grave
My vision is mute, my experience is deaf, my eyesight is sharp, my handwriting is bold
Bitches, you wanted to sell me raps,
They call me fake, they're not used to seeing thousand-dollar bills
And I know why, and I got no time for this shit
If I have a beautiful angel, a redhead in a corset who
Makes me feel like I'm in a red corvette
Like my first time of my raps on cassettes
So I didn't rap, in the end I said fuck it, same with you and your crew
Fuck that shit.