No Sonrío Pero Todo Está Bien

I Don't Smile But Everything's Fine

Chorus(x2)
No need to say names if you know who,
Brings the best sh*t, no matter what they do.
I'm all in, giving my 100 percent,
I don't smile but everything's fine.

LIRIKO:
Hey! I always have a mic and a cause,
Representing the style, respecting the pause.
I stand tall, stubborn and tough,
Over a raw beat, rather rough.
I'm everywhere (sh*t),
They throw drinks at me,
Suspicious attractive smell on the clothes,
Few girls I know who aren't crazy,
I know them smart with the skill of a talker.
Everyone knows me, I go out after midnight,
Always some idiots looking for a fight.
There are rats and spiders,
Fauna of different kinds,
Beautiful eyes fall in love with eye crust.
Without showing (they look) like staring at cleavage,
They don't know you at all and tell you the whole story.
I get upset, I get annoyed, rather twist my mustache,
Liriko and Tote much more than a nickname.
I sh*t on fake rappers who appear on TV,
And no matter how much they pay you, you tarnish my image.
They show me love and I feel it,
I pose for a fan in every photo.
Some don't like me but
With my crew, they're stuck.
This is Liriko, man,
And no buts about it.
Whatever you do, you have to know
That there's always someone who wants to see you,
And someone who wants to see you fall.
And the moon knows this,
I was already escaping from the cradle,
They can't take away what I've danced,
I haven't missed a thing,
I'm here thinking about my own,
Everything's fine if the only thing happening is that I don't smile.

(Chorus * 2)

TOTE:
Welcome to the ego trip,
The rapper's paradise, music first.
Worth more than money,
Flow like a telo,
Style 24/7 flat rate.
Kids already waiting eagerly for mine like the new Indiana.
But no one sees us, no one believes us,
Even though these tracks are a before and after.
Liriko and Tote always keep it, make you feel,
Make cameos on TV like f*cking Stan Lee.
They want old-school rap,
Settle scores, two guys 6'3,
Not for sale.
Here in Spain, 90s rap grows for us,
We fly like David Belle in District 13.
Enough! Controversial journalists making up interviews,
Looking for your tongue to pit you against another artist.
I won't give them clues no matter how much they insist,
My thing is to keep playing even if they drop bombs,
Like in The Pianist.
We talk about Flow, we talk about being,
Recording with a cap on annoys,
Learn it now!
We talk about kicks, about shrimp dishes,
Slices of serrano ham come in groups,
Quality beats,
You're mad, you don't stand out, no money,
That's why you insult, I did it too in my early days.
I don't waste time with worms (no),
I look them in the eyes, f*ck them and they all jump into the Spartans' pit.
I don't smile but I live well when I'm with my people,
If I squeeze the pen and bring words to this dark world,
No matter what they say, they never play in my league,
From San Julián to the damn Ardidas bar.

(Chorus*2)

(Thanks to Samara for these lyrics)