Song meaning of Bajo y Batería by Residente

Oh, "Bajo y Batería" by Residente, what a delightful little ditty we have here! So, apparently, Residente loves to let people roam freely in the meadow, making them feel like they have their whole lives ahead of them. But just when they're about to reach the border, he whips out a good ol' wooden pencil and BAM! Pencil to the forehead! He's the whip cracking overseer in the sugar cane plantation, the last thing you see before you die, the roof of the hospital, and the face of the nurse. Wow, he eats this cow so passionately, devouring every part from the tenderloin to the skull. He even makes Shakira lose her hips! Now, he's got an axe in the glove compartment like a Native American scalping hair. He's got them putting up flags behind the trenches while the "Residentes" cool off in the refrigerator. And oh, he's swept them so many times when it comes to rhyming that even the witches have no brooms left to fly. Seriously, these witches have to Uber around now! They've been swept horizontally, vertically, and even perpendicularly. No one in the urban music genre wants to smile with him anymore because he's made their teeth into his necklace. He's like, "Bam! You want a mention? I'll feed you for a month!" These tongue waggers are drooling like crazy, claiming he's not a rapper, but nobody wants to fight the second, third, or fourth best – they all want the champ. He's like, "Come on, guys, you're proving my point! Everyone wants to battle the champion in this pantheon. You can't even make it to the Fifth Step! Your pants are falling down because my belt is too big for you. Not even in the top 30, buddy. Not even with sign language can you get in on the conversation. Your execution is terrible, even with the death penalty. Hell, even if you beg Omar, you don't have the talent. Today, the population is gonna grow because he's gonna go wild until condoms break. And now, without further interruption, Cosculluela, here's your name drop so you can pay child support. Every day, this little napkin delinquent closes his eyes and clenches his fists, making a wish that one day the secret police will chase after him. He wants to be the most wanted, along with his gang, the "White Panthers of Humacao." From his porcelain neighborhood, he has wet dreams about Tony Montana, with his fantasies filled with fairy godmothers, elves, and dragons. What I love the most is that he thinks his mild, lukewarm gaze intimidates us. He thinks he has everyone quaking in their boots with his divorced soccer mom face. No matter how much he paddles, the boat sinks. He wants to be a big shot and a priest at the same time. This buddy is so confused, reading the Bible while smacking his woman. With his made-up religion, he beats up pregnant women and slams them against the floor. No matter how much you pray, pigs like you don't go to heaven. Nobody believes you anymore – well, except for those who write "Residente" with a C and a few bloggers. The more reggaetonero you are, the more nonsensical you become. "Rimando Fonalleda with silk" is what they say – how do I rhyme with that? With "butt," sniff-a-bug? These dummies have been swept away since 2005. I've never seen an elephant fly, nor have I seen Maiky Backstage do a relevant interview. They're frustrated singers who never made it. They talk about cooking but never stepped foot in a kitchen. The opinion of these enlightened ones is worthless, just like Révol with his wrinkled testicle face. In the end, these are the ones who applauded you, and the Balvin fans who are still butthurt. In the interest of not writing another dissertation, let's just say Residente had quite the field day with this song. He took shots at everyone from Tego Calderón to Kim Kardashian, leaving no stone unturned. So, buckle up, my friends, because Residente's funny interpretations are always a wild and savage ride!