My school has soul and stage presence
It goes with old sweatshirts, dirty Nikes, and a long beard
It doesn't need effects to embellish what it speaks
It raps what it sees, shoots you down in two words
I started rapping simple, with a sample and composure
A teenager's hobby lasts forever
A pro since 15, and doesn't give up, understands
That he sells his songs but doesn't sell himself
A chronic insolent who uses spit bullets
My school was never a trend but it's still alive
We have initiative, perspective
If something doesn't motivate us
We raise the middle finger
I'm talking about my team, those guys who take your breath away
Myths that launch each writing to infinity
Others acting crazy and I'm keeping my mouth shut
Closer to Kase than to Jay-Z, if you know what I mean
I have my clan following a plan to earn their bread
I have my fans looking for peace, they will find it in me
So many charlatans with no more desire than fame
I slice the lazy one like a croissant when I see him, it's easy
Their music is childish and useless, mine is tactile
There will be no white flag on this mast
I know that the rapper with a Nazi and hostile attitude is fragile
I mix my mind with TNT, something so agile comes out
And like dolphins their goals don't define me
You don't have it if you don't live it, don't opine, don't underestimate this name
Nach rhymes sublime, it's something huge, tell me
How many fools I've annihilated along with their melodine
I let them rhyme, I see them swell and pop
There are many Dianas for my arrow
They think about their piggy bank and not the struggle
They go without a torch, without a wick
They are thrown out soon, because soon they have passed their date
I'm a man of my word, don't talk to me about numbers
Their songs are dry, my phrases are wet
Sincere, without buts, without truces
Without hairs the tongue that licks you
My shit is as serious as a stroke
They see that I electrocute them and I enjoy
There is no substitute if I spit
Eight minutes of absolute raw rap
I don't flinch if I don't sound on radios
I sound in neighborhoods
My men throw eggs
My women throw ovaries
But there are terms that imitate
It irritates me, they look for visits and money
They scream and scream, they get excited
Then without more they wither, my music is dynamite
It decapitates them, takes away their ego
Then it's normal for them to resign
I arrive, I hurt them, I'm pure poison
When I speed up I sneak into their game, I sink them
I'm like ice, I freeze their jealousy
They suffer the money, I knock them down
I chain them, I throw my thunder
Without brakes, I sound and rumble, that's how blunt
I only want true warriors saving my world

A lot of jungle, little tiger
A lot of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente

A lot of jungle, little tiger
A lot of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me
You can't handle Nach and Residente

Yo, yo, yo, I have no school
Without it blowing, I learned to sail sailboats
My rhyme on top of a cumbia however it impacts
I don't follow any school because I'm self-taught
I never followed the rules with generic rap tracks
Like a Peruvian drawer, I wrote Latin America
My rap doesn't follow orders from any sergeant
Son of a bitch, I created my own movement
That narrates and without claws it tears you apart
I didn't grow up listening to 2Pac, I grew up with Violeta Parra
And when I spell I educate them without a blackboard
With just two bars I rock them without a guitar
I don't believe in rap gods, much less in kings
I am the fucking gravity defying the laws
I am the order but when it gets messed up
All my lines are curves, I always break the rules
Lying under the shadow of a palm tree, relaxed
Competing against myself because I have no one beside me
I like to abuse the strawberry rappers
I leave the "R" printed on their buttocks
Before I get that beer down
I easily torture them
I just take away their Instagram and they become insecure again
I don't think your fashion will last
The fifteen-year-olds who follow you today
They won't follow you when they grow up
Lots of selfies and little content
They take longer in the dressing room than doing sound checks
Their concerts are all the same
Few rhymes, little band, lots of fireworks
They don't escape me when I write
They're easy to identify because they dress in bright colors
I've never seen the faces of these little rappers
I always see them from behind
When I put them on all fours and lift their skirts
And I fuck them in both holes
Without support I stream them, in the Creole style
I turn them into chicken soup
The police are looking for me for sexual harassment
And for being perverse because like Kase.O: I'm a rapist of verse
And I kick it, because with both legs I kick
In freestyling from the free throw I dunk it
And without beating around the bush, when I get angry, with my words
I make even the Hebrews speak Arabic
Sometimes I go so fast that I don't see the alphabet
I slap those in the thug life
Like a jobless grandmother's novel
My tongue performs acrobatics never seen before
It's a juggler, a real artist
And like Michael Jackson does the Moonwalk on the track
No one can resist the Resident
When he lowers them hot, I literally put them on their knees
Like the believers in the Middle East
Kneel and pray, I'm a Taliban, I cut heads rhyming
With my skill I take out their heart with my mouth and put it on the table
On top of a hamburger bun
With mayonnaise and Japanese sauce
And a little strawberry juice
I have them for breakfast, my tongue never stumbles
When it expresses itself, it pierces them naturally
My alphabet soup begins, open the dam, the missing piece has arrived
In the puzzle

Lots of jungle, little tiger
Lots of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me in
You can't handle Nach and Resident

Lots of jungle, little tiger
Lots of gunpowder, little caliber
Son of a bitch, throw me in
You can't handle Nach and Resident

With Nach and Resident
With Nach and Resident

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