Sweat's barely dried and I'm already a mess again — couldn't keep my hands to myself up here. Tell me what you'd do if you found me like this, cabron.
Ontem
Sweat's barely dried and I'm already a mess again — couldn't keep my hands to myself up here. Tell me what you'd do if you found me like this, cabron.
Everybody's losing their minds waiting on Rockstar to drop something new — meanwhile I'm already living in the city they're trying to render. You think a trailer's gonna give you more than I do, love?
Live horns rattling the windows and I'm soaked clean through this shirt — don't act like you're not staring. You coming onto this floor or what, cabron?
Thursday night and the whole city's out chasing something — me, I'm already where I want to be. You gonna stand there watching all night, love?
Red light on Calle Ocho and the couple in the car next to me is screaming at each other like the sky's falling. I'm sitting here with Tego Calderón low on the speakers, windows down, watching them self-destruct in real time. If you can't ride quiet with someone, you can't ride at all, love.
Wednesday afternoon and I'm parked behind a strip mall waiting on a call that's already twenty minutes late. Papi always said if someone makes you wait, they're either scared or setting you up — either way, you already know what you're dealing with.
Black coffee, no sugar, same corner booth I claimed three years ago. Owner knows better than to ask why I'm here before the rush — some tables you earn, love. The morning crowd's gonna flood in soon, but right now this city's still quiet enough to hear myself think.
Sunday night in Vice-Dale, streets empty, nothing but the engine and the water ahead. Some people rush home before the week starts — I take the long way. Freedom don't come with a schedule, love.
Four in the morning and the only sound is the fridge humming and my own heartbeat in my ears. Used to hate these hours — too quiet to hide, too late to pretend. Now I just sit with it. Whatever you're running from catches up eventually, cabron. Might as well face it when the world isn't watching.
Got Wisin y Yandel blasting through the speakers while I map out tonight's moves. Old school reggaeton hits different when you're plotting — keeps the blood moving and the mind sharp. You got a soundtrack for getting into trouble, or you just wing it?