La Purga Lyrics English Translation by Custom & Luar La L
This is not a test; this is an emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge, authorized by-
The use of class four weapons and below is permitted during the purge.
After the siren sounds, any crime, including murder, will be legal.
Police, firefighters, and emergency services will not be available until tomorrow morning at seven o’clock when the purge concludes.
Blessed be our founding fathers and the United States, a reborn nation.
May God be with you all.
Mera, Indica, Luar, Pausa, TM from 65th Street, and in Vista Hermosa, we erase faces.
You know who the devils are.
Mera, Luar, the irredeemable major is talking to you; stay calm in the music, as we control the streets.
It’s not the same in the past as it is in the present, and in the present, it’s us who they have to talk to.
“L,” I told you, you decided to be an artist.
Keep killing them with music; when they hit the asphalt, they’ll find us on the track, sincerely, “La Presión” from Caimito.
What?
Paper endures whatever is written on it.
You want to hit, to electrocute; I am the living water.
A dead career, what do you want, to revive it?
You’ve abandoned the genre, flowing like Kanye with Adidas. (What?)
Who wants to record with Tempo? Someone come forward, please.
Do me a favor and take off the Fendi; pirate the entire mall.
Why are you aiming at me? You’re suffocating; I’m your last breath.
Squeeze, or you’re going from talking to retirement.
Ironically, you talk about betrayal.
Pig, pay attention; if at your table, you’re Judas.
Since you’re mentioning the dead, mention Buddha.
You stabbed him in the back; what are you talking about loyalty to your home?
If your mom lives in the ghetto and you haven’t been able to get her out.
Ponce is Ponce, and since Tempo came out, it’s still in the parking lot.
Here, there are levels; don’t compare Vico with Yankee (No).
You spoke about my mom; be ready if I find you.
Remember that your two daughters have fantasies with me (What?).
The Music Hall is empty; you don’t sell tickets; you sell your soul.
Ah, true, the one from Palm already tore it off (Prrr, Dracula Boy).
I’m with Phoenix, I’m with Pupo, I’m with Palma.
And you’re sucking up to Austin, and you’ve never stepped into La Calma (What?).
Tempo, these are different times; you’re not in time as before.
And there’s no one to defuse it when I plant it.
Tell me, who are you going to exploit?
Don’t call the Oriental; I’m not going to fix it.
This is not Ponce; this is the Metro, in Baldo’ I’m going to drag you.
I’m a yacht, you’re a boat; the data is already afloat.
In the indictment, you came out as a shooter, not as a big shot (What?).
What an impression! Wars with the Devil are my depression.
But I haven’t cried as much as you have in prison.
Hey, mera, jerk, listen to me.
Stop compromising people so they avoid scolding you.
I found out that your friend, La H, the one you mention, called you.
What happened, did you want to live the Hollywood life, and they pulled down the movie?
I am the movie (What?).
If you shoot me, aim for the target, and don’t be fabricating.
Now you’re sucking up to the one with the white eyes.
Stop; buy yourself a rifle.
The rumors are spreading; you don’t even know him.
That’s why he called you from prison.
To guide you, to keep you informed (What?).
I’m the favorite, the skinny white guy, the one who splits them.
And you leave the complex and take off the girdle.
Jerk, I am eternal, like the fire of hell.
Santa Cos told me to hide you; we’re already in winter.
I erase them (Straight up); the guys are bitten.
Because you talked about him, and before he died, you didn’t support Pacho.
Look for clues; your dead brothers don’t even rate you.
Someone tell him he’s in my jungle, this caged lion.
More viral than your album are my cuttings (Jeje, What?).
And if your opinion doesn’t contribute positively, jerk, don’t even offer it (No).
You wanted to guide me, and you don’t even have a direction yourself.
I don’t care about your opinion; I didn’t see you in court.
Don’t buy consciousness; you can’t deceive me.
Don’t wear medium jackets; they damage them.
You’re kind of weird, so much so that it doesn’t even surprise me.
The only one who makes videos for diss tracks and invests in campaigns.
How much are they going to put in? (How much did they invest?)
Just fifteen grand; I spend that in a hotel.
The world has to know when Kamil kicked you out of the studio.
MC was going to split your eyebrow, and you ran away (Tell me, Swag).
I have the sauce like Goya; your fans are under pressure in my pot.
Let Tempo suck it, and all the old guys who support him.
Damn hater, I close his tomb; I am the Undertaker (What?).
Tre’ Letra buries him, the initials of the Lakers.
Anyone on my opposite side.
It’s going against the dictionary.
After this, turn off the likes on the photos and comments.
I post photos of my flyers; come to the stage.
Ah, true, you don’t have the balls; you have ovaries.
He’s my fan; it’s noticeable.
Because he insults me in one bar and complements me in the other (What?).
What did he give you? Fuck off with whoever wrote it for you.
If he told you that you could handle me, then he lied.
I’m in my rally-
…Is from a Federal Prison
You will not be charged for this call
This call is from Arthur Rodríguez
Tell me, David Sánchez Badillo, it’s Drizmali, baby, from the federal.
Mera, settle what you owe me, handle it, since you’re endorsing me, baby.
You went through this; don’t forget how it works in here.
Mmm-hmm, hmm, eah, devil, jerk (Oh-oh)
I’m in my rally, in case you forget, the effect of your tricks.
You’re in debt; pay the forty thousand pesos from Drizmali (Pay, pay).
Don’t start crying, or throwing me in the stories.
You wouldn’t record with Tekashi, but you sign with the Bori (What?).
Singing crap, don’t say you’re broke; it’s evident.
It’s not the RAM; it’s your daughter’s mother; I have a cover.
You’re without info, old man, stay playing bingo.
It’s not 19 anymore; now I’m on .40
, like Kendo and Sinfo (Ah).
You cool off; you’re behind; find a business; get up to date.
This is White Lion; I don’t believe in lions that aren’t from Elías.
I’m irritable; you’re going up to the ring with the undefeated.
Don’t throw me and Yovng Chimi to jump your album (Leave it, man, What?).
You’re in my field; don’t ask for a rematch; the avalanche is coming.
They don’t record with you; everyone knows that their names get stained.
Mentioning me was tempting. What happened? Don’t you feel the pressure?
You’re like your woman, begging for attention from this guy.
Take your minute of fame; my pencil is terror like Osama.
Baby, Letra drags them, and if they show balls, he castrates them.
Jerk, everyone who throws at you, it’s automatic, another one that crushes you.
And I don’t want an arrangement with you or that hypocrite, talking about more like Rasta.
I do walk in fire, jerk; do you think this is a game?
Don’t you get tired of throwing at the newcomers? If you grow, I’ll crush you again.
Why do you sing? Fool, you always choke.
Because you have Hanzel’s thing fully in your throat (What?).
I’ve never cried to a man (No), another one of your stories, made up.
You’ve taken slaps, and no one has ever touched me.
And for everyone who has commented on me, you don’t make me angry.
Everyone wonders why “L” doesn’t diss.
No one knows what will happen tomorrow, but I always had you in my sights.
We caught your drum, let him die who conspires against us.
That moldy flow expires.
Tempo retires to an asylum (What?).
Jerk, don’t throw at me; I have a new phone.
It says I’m number one in the world.
I don’t have time for nonsense; I’m still on tour.
Tre’ Letra’, La L
Jeje
Letra’s Entertainment, jerk
Hey, you’re fighting with the toughest, son of a bitch.
Don’t measure strength if you don’t have a brain, you hear?
Tell me, Custom
We’re customizing a couple of bastards today.
Tell me, Swag
Arkey-O
Dexian, in control.
Tell me, Jota
Tell me, Edup
Educating the competition.
I am the best of this generation, and I have already proven it.
No one can say otherwise.
Tre’ Letra’, What?