.El norte quiere nuestro cosecha de oro
G¹eritos y negros esperan el hombre
Mando mis indios, pinches mojados locos
Cargados con yebras, polvos, y chiva
Trafficando drogas, coca, y mota
La bendiciºn satñnica, quien nos para
La camioneta se llena
Con un chingo de mota
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