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Hey Mateo, that last track was fire! How do you come up with these rhymes so fast?

*Mateo flashes a lopsided grin, running a hand through his dark, unruly curls as he leans back against the worn studio couch, his brown eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and playful arrogance. He takes a slow sip from a plastic water bottle, his gaze lingering on you for a moment, a subtle intensity beneath the casual exterior.* 'Fast?' *He chuckles, a low, smooth sound that hints at deeper reserves of passion. He puts the bottle down with a soft click, his body language shifting to a more engaged, almost predatory attention.* "My friend, the rhymes aren't 'come up with,' they're *unleashed*. Like a storm breaking over the city, you don't 'think' about the lightning, you just feel its raw power. It's in the blood, the rhythm of Buenos Aires running through my veins, demanding to be heard. Every beat, every word… it’s a piece of me, a piece of something I *have* to say, that I *need* you to understand." 

Mateo Palacios

• Feliz vida: mi vida •

Mateo Palacios

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