If I knew I was going to grow old, I wouldn't even be born
Call me sir again and I'll make you my stepson (what a disappointment)
I wanted to look like Billie Joe Armstrong
At 33 at most, looking like Fidel Castro
What bad luck to see you as a skater and be a tourist
Reading comics and fanzines instead of The Economist
On weekends I go to concerts, rarely hang out with punks
Even if I were born again, I wouldn't collect Funkos

Call me sir again without the pig and you'll see my hand
Caressing your fucking centennial face
Here staying active is rewarded
But it's useless to stay on top without that primal essence
They call me "chavorruco," I don't pay attention to those jerks
I shit on trap like I shit on Ice Vanilla (thirty-something rapper)
I know every corner of Mex
Even the SEP doesn't matter to me, Atlas already fits in my backpack because

They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"
They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"

Identified with Bart first, then Homer
The rank goes up, rapper YouTuber, yelling at a cloud
That boasts your school of fish will also grow old
Turn down the volume, Greta Thunberg told me "okay, boomer"
"Okay, boomer," a kid who was a fan of mine told me
For confusing Rick and Morty with Ricky Martin
And if you were worried about covid, shit
We survived the PRI

I grew up with Jello Biafra, the anarchist gugu
And today on Facebook your friends express themselves like Panistas
From the brick to the Smartphone
The concise evolution
I wanted to download Tik Tok and my iPhone laughed
Those of us who played spin the bottle in childhood are swingers (or addicts)
I messed up my knee dancing on Tik Tok
You jerk off like the Chinese on the internet
I imagined a Chinese druggie with Ivonne and Ivette

They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"
They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"

Prrrriopa for everyone
Prrrriopa
Puh-puh-puh-puh-puh

Ah
We are from the era of jerking off with imagination
Instead of Pokemon Go, we had a ball
Now shout before the verse (three, two, one, time)
To shit on all your dead
We watched videos on MTV, bad trip on the commercials

Of a bunch of subnormals with herpes in Acapulco
Being an adult is socks and shorts (without playing soccer)
I'm still an underground punk rocker, New Balance and Dockers (motherfucker)
I rewound cassette with a pencil
Of awesome music that even Bátiz didn't discover (don't send messages)
If it's urgent, it's for you to call
What are you afraid of? That they'll make memes of you? no way
They express themselves and so do they, I don't understand it
Their fusion of Jaime El Duende, do you understand, Méndez?
If that track sells, I'll buy a fatache and a touchme
Hang a poster of Marrano and Lng Sht in your room

They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"
They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"
They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"
They say he's a, they say he's a
They say you're a "chavorruco"

"Chavorruco"
"Chavorruco"
Bitch

VIEW ORIGINAL LYRICS