Learn Spanish With Gabito Ballesteros with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
"7 Días" plunges us right into the raw aftermath of a breakup. Gabito Ballesteros and Tito Double P count every hour of a single agonizing week, battling la puta ansiedad with alcohol, parties, and anything that might dull the sting. Thirty missed calls, empty wallets, and blurry nights reveal a desperate search for distraction, yet every sunrise reminds them of the same truth: she is gone, and the void is louder than the music blasting in the background.
By the second half of the song, the tone shifts from panic to reluctant acceptance. The singers face the mirror, admitting that the relationship was once sworn to be pa' siempre but has slipped away. They toy with the idea that their ex still feels something, but finally choose self-preservation over chasing ghosts. “7 Días” is a Regional Mexican confession about how heartbreak triggers reckless behavior, then forces a sober reckoning—proving that seven days can feel like a lifetime when love and anxiety share the same playlist.
“A Puro Dolor” is a heartfelt confession of raw longing. In this Regional Mexican ballad, Gabito Ballesteros plays the role of someone who simply cannot let go. He breaks a promise not to call, just to hear his ex’s breathing for a fleeting second, because every moment apart feels like slow, painful agony. The singer lays bare his desperation: life has lost its sparkle, afternoons feel like mazes, and nights taste only of pain.
Beneath the pleading words, you’ll hear a tug-of-war between pride and vulnerability. Ballesteros admits he would love to say he is fine, but hiding the sun with one finger is impossible; the emptiness is too big to mask. He begs for his fantasies, his will to live, and even the very air he breathes to be returned. It’s a vivid portrayal of love’s aftershock—the kind that leaves you gasping, dialing a forbidden number, and confessing your heart in hopes that the one who left might still listen.
Sad Loqueron plunges us straight into a neon-lit world where glittering excess meets raw emotion. Over thumping corridos tumbados, Gabito Ballesteros boasts about late-night sprees filled with whisky, marijuana, fistfuls of cash, and Dolce & Gabbana glamour. The party feels unstoppable, yet every flashy detail is a smoke screen for his bruised heart.
Beneath the swagger lies a confession of love lost. He once promised the stars, but his partner wanted a different life, leaving him to drown the pain in noise and lights. Now, surrounded by weary friends and clouded memories, he vows to erase her with “another love.” The track captures that bittersweet tug between wanting to forget and still feeling the sting, turning a wild night out into an anthem for anyone who has tried to dance their way out of heartbreak.
Presidente plunges you into the turbo-charged world of Mexico’s new-school corrido stars… a place where tons of cocaine glide across oceans in Bugattis, Russian rifles arrive gift-wrapped, and Queen Elizabeth’s face on British pounds is the only authority that matters. Gabito Ballesteros, Natanael Cano, Luis R Conriquez, and Neton Vega brag about an international trafficking network that runs "de aquí para allá" without ever answering to presidents. Their swaggering verses turn criminal logistics into high-octane poetry, flipping the word libras between pounds of product and pounds sterling, and boasting that even a private jet can’t keep up with their encrypted Telegram orders.
Luxury and danger crash together at every corner: Louis Vuitton outfits camouflaging cocaine dust, Versace shades scanning for enemies, a Brabus G-Wagon patrolling the “charco,” and AK-47s (“cuernos colorados”) riding shotgun. They blow pink “tussi,” trust love-potions of agua de calzón, and toast five-million-dollar deals while their private Instagram stays off magazines’ radar. The song is an adrenaline-soaked postcard from the narco underworld—equal parts glamour, risk, and ruthless ambition—inviting listeners to witness a criminal empire that bows only to money and loyalty.
Sin Yolanda is an adrenaline-charged postcard from Mexico’s current corridos tumbados scene. Gabito Ballesteros teams up with Peso Pluma to paint a glittering night where Cadillac One leads the convoy, Lamborghinis flash by, and Dom Pérignon flows for a carousel of university girls, influencers, and brand-new “Barbies.” The lyrics feel like a live social-media feed: designer labels, cosmetic upgrades, TikTok dances, and shout-outs to video-game codes mix with street slang to celebrate status, wealth, and fearless self-promotion.
Beneath the roaring engines and luxury shout-outs, the song is really about power and image. “Sin Yolanda” (a playful way of saying “no tears, no excuses”) declares that only those ready to party on the highest level are invited. Cocaine references (“la nieve,” “Tusi”) and non-stop cash underline a lifestyle fueled by excess, where the night never ends and sleep never comes. It is both a boast and a snapshot of a generation that measures success in followers, diamonds, and loud corridos blasting from the speakers—arriba México and play it louder.
Lucky Charms is a high-energy anthem where Gabito Ballesteros, Natanael Cano and Peso Pluma show off the glittering world they now inhabit. Throughout the lyrics they name-drop Maybachs, Lamborghinis, Bentleys, Hermès bags and designer scents like Baccarat, creating a video-game-style fantasy (they even reference Grand Theft Auto: Vice City) in which money seems endless and every night turns into a deluxe party. The repeated shout-outs to "gallos de Lucky Charms," "bombones freaky" and other playful slang add a sugary twist, hinting that their vices are as colorful and addictive as the cereal itself.
Beneath the neon lights and luxury labels, the song also flashes the tougher edge of corridos tumbados. Armed bodyguards, coded references to firearms (the SCAR) and a constant alertness remind listeners that this lifestyle demands vigilance as well as swagger. In short, Lucky Charms is both a celebration and a cautionary flex: it invites you to taste the seven deadly sins right alongside the artists, all while a hypnotic beat keeps the party—and the danger—thumping.
Perdido is a raw confession of heartbreak where Gabito Ballesteros, one of Mexico’s rising corrido stars, trades tough-guy bravado for vulnerable honesty. The lyrics plunge us into a sleepless, alcohol-soaked binge full of blurry bathroom photos and deleted messages, showing a man who tries every wild distraction—parties, random hookups, nonstop drinking—yet still ends up thinking about the one who left.
Behind the slang and edgy language beats a simple truth: nothing numbs the pain of lost love. Gabito’s narrator pleads with God, begs for one more night, and admits he feels “perdido” (lost) without those unforgettable lips. The song becomes an anthem for anyone who has ever masked sorrow with excess, only to discover that the heart always sobers up first.
LOU LOU drops you straight into a neon-lit pool party in Guadalajara, where luxury labels and hard-edged bravado mix like bubbles in a glass of Dom Pérignon. Gabito Ballesteros and Natanael Cano paint the scene with shout-outs to Versace, Ferragamo bikinis, pink powder, cherry-flavored weed, and a Rolex that ticks past midnight. The vibe is playful yet intense: glamorous women glide through the water, armored trucks cruise outside, and a tight security team called “los Delta” keeps danger at bay while the music pumps.
Below the sparkle, the song flaunts the rising power of the corridos bélicos movement. References to “el señor de la M,” loyal “plebes,” and bulletproof rides echo real-world cartel mythology, turning the track into a badge of status, loyalty, and calculated risk. It is a celebration of youth that balances on the edge of excess: equal parts fashion show, street anthem, and fearless declaration that this new wave of Mexican artists can party, protect their own, and dominate the spotlight all at once.
Gabito Ballesteros turns a classic tale of unrequited love into a playful critique of materialism. The narrator is head-over-heels for someone who has chosen a flashier rival, and his jealousy boils over into a string of questions: How did a "heart of stone" win you over? Is it the new car, the fat bank account, or the well-connected family? Each clue points to the same conclusion—today, love apparently rides on "four wheels," dresses in brand-name clothes, and obeys traffic lights just like any other vehicle.
By repeating the hook "Ahora el amor anda en cuatro llantas," Ballesteros paints a vivid picture of romance reduced to horsepower and tinted windows. It is witty, a little sarcastic, and surprisingly relatable; many listeners will recognize the frustration of watching genuine feelings lose out to shallow status symbols. Performed live, the song feels like a friendly rant shared among pals, inviting us to laugh, sing along, and maybe question how much value we place on shiny toys over sincere hearts.
Ya Corazón is a heartfelt conversation between the singer and his own heart. Gabito Ballesteros and Junior H paint the picture of a breakup that still stings, but also of a man determined to wipe away the bitterness. He tells his corazón, “Enough suffering, time will heal us,” even though everything still feels like a bad dream. The chorus shows firm resolve: it is better to walk away, pack up the good memories, and accept that she did not value what they had.
Behind the calm advice lies raw sadness. Hours turn into months without her, and hopes of seeing her again fade. He admits that his fortune, his dreams, even his will to soar, were all tied to her. Yet the song closes on a bittersweet note of growth: he gave everything, he was happy once, now the night is coming, and moving on is the only path forward. Wrapped in the trademark “sad boy” sierreño sound, Ya Corazón becomes an anthem of letting go, healing, and learning to live with a tender scar rather than an open wound.
Sonrisa Colgate is a bold, flirt-packed corrido tumbado where Gabito Ballesteros and Fuerza Regida turn up the charm. The singers spot a girl who looks as perfect “as a Barbie” and can’t hide their attraction. They shower her with playful compliments, promise designer treats, and picture a private getaway where no neighbors will hear the passion. The repeated line “Sonrisa Colgate” highlights her bright, irresistible smile—one that makes the artists want to leave everything and everyone else behind.
Under the swagger and street slang, the song celebrates confidence, desire, and living in the fast lane. Luxury brands, TikTok fame, and late-night motel plans create a vivid image of modern romance on the Mexican regional scene. While the lyrics are cheeky and explicit, they also carry a simple message: when sparks fly, nothing—phones, neighbors, or past relationships—should get in the way of enjoying the moment.
Neta is a raw, modern corrido where Gabito Ballesteros and Junior H let heartbreak spill straight onto the bar top. Over guitars and tuba, the narrator swings between pain and bravado: one moment he is staring at an empty glass that still reflects his ex’s face, the next he is flashing stacks of cash, partying with friends, and promising to bounce back. The lyrics feel like a blurry night out in México, full of slang, tears, and laughter.
At its core, the song captures that messy stage after a breakup when pride and sadness collide. He admits “sí te quise” (I really loved you) yet masks the wound with alcohol, loud banda music, and reckless spending. Still, beneath the tough talk, he hopes his angels erase her memory so he can stand up again. It is a confession wrapped in corrido swagger—honest, vulnerable, and defiantly upbeat.
Mocoso introduces us to a bold young narrator who is reveling in a life of fast money, high fashion, and non-stop partying. By opening with “I already know how the law of attraction works,” Gabito Ballesteros sets the tone: he believes his confidence and ambition have drawn riches to him. The lyrics name-check bags of cocaine, luxury brands like Bvlgari, blue-tinted eyes, and even a backside “worth a Ferrari,” all to paint an extravagant picture of success that feels larger than life. It is a brag-filled tour of private parties, designer accessories, and stacks of blue hundred-dollar bills, sound-tracked by Cotton Candy Faygo and haze of weed.
The title Mocoso literally means “snot-nosed kid,” and that nickname becomes a badge of honor. Despite being young, the singer flaunts gold-plated guns, Crocs worn like status symbols, and a promise to “pay for everything.” The message is clear: age does not matter when you have swagger, money, and fearless attitude. At its core the song is a flashy, tongue-in-cheek celebration of youthful excess and the outlaw persona driving modern regional-trap corridos in Mexico.
Welcome to Gabito Ballesteros’ high-octane playground! In “El Boss,” joined by fellow corridos tumbados trailblazer Natanael Cano, the Mexican artist swaps the traditional acoustic grit of regional music for a turbocharged ride through nightlife excess. The lyrics feel like a late-night Instagram story: revving an AMG Mercedes, puffing premium “Baby Jeeter” joints, flashing Prada black, and chasing every flavor of excitement from blue-eyed blondes to sun-kissed brunettes. It is a checklist of luxury labels, designer drugs, and fearless flirtation, all delivered with the swagger of someone everyone simply calls El Boss.
Beneath the glitter the song is an anthem of status. Every brand name, club scene, and daring escapade is proof that the narrator has leveled up from the streets to the penthouse. When he raps about “moviendo plumas, se parte el pastel,” he paints a picture of dividing the spoils with his crew, reinforcing loyalty while celebrating personal power. In short, “El Boss” is less a humble brag and more a roaring victory lap—an invitation to buckle up, spark up, and bask in the audacious confidence of Mexico’s new-school corrido royalty.
“La Mamoncita Del Insta” is a playful corrido tumbado that tells the story of a confident man who falls head-over-heels for an Instagram diva. From the very first lines he makes it clear he wants her all to himself, warning off any rivals and even joking about pulling out the “mini-mi” (a small gun) if someone gets too close. He showers her with flowers, kisses, luxury brands and beach dates, convinced that behind her tough, unattainable image lies a warm heart that only he will get to know. The lyrics capture his mix of admiration, flirtation, and macho protectiveness while painting her as both “la mera jefa” (the real boss) and the queen of his world.
Beyond the romantic braggadocio, the song celebrates modern social-media culture and regional Mexican swagger. Gabito Ballesteros and Luis R Conriquez blend playful devotion with boastful promises, showing how status symbols like designer clothes and exclusive attention play into today’s courtship rituals. Underneath the flashy gifts and possessive declarations is a simple message: even the most intimidating “Insta baddie” can fall for sincere affection, laughter, and a partner who treats her like royalty. It is a lively anthem for anyone who has ever tried to win over a seemingly unreachable crush—armed with charm, confidence, and a soundtrack full of norteño guitars and tuba.
“Me Voy” is Gabito Ballesteros’ bittersweet farewell to a love that never truly saw him. Over a smooth regional Mexican groove, he sings from the heart: his partner ignored what was “so close,” leaving him feeling invisible. Rather than wallow in self-pity, Gabito owns his part in the story — “quizá lo merezco” — but decides he will not settle for less than real affection. The repeated qué lástima, pero adiós is both apology and liberation, a catchy hook that turns heartbreak into empowerment.
In the end, hope shines through the sorrow. Gabito looks ahead to “algo mejor,” dreaming of a love sweet enough to “endulzar la sal” and make the sun rise. The song captures that universal, uplifting moment when you realize walking away is an act of self-love. Listeners are left humming a chorus that feels like a hug and a high-five all at once.
La Niña pairs Gabito Ballesteros’s smooth regional-urbano style with Kenia Os’s playful voice to paint a sun-soaked story of flirtation on the Mexican coast. He’s the enamored suitor, writing “la carta más bonita” and promising an AMG pickup and VIP nightlife. She’s the free-spirited girl who would rather sip beers on the beach, blast music from a portable speaker, and dance with her friends. Their call-and-response verses feel like a game of cat and mouse set to a catchy norteño-pop beat.
Beneath the breezy vibe, the song celebrates youthful freedom and self-confidence. Gabito’s romantic persistence meets Kenia’s “na-na-na, no quiero nada” mantra, reminding listeners that you only live once, so enjoy the moment, follow your own rhythm, and never let anyone dim your sparkle. The result is an anthem for carefree nights, ice-cold drinks, and choosing fun over pressure—¿y qué más da?
“Que Pedo” is a raw, late-night confession set to a regional Mexican groove. Gabito Ballesteros and EDDY paint the picture of someone who can no longer drown heartbreak in tequila. When the DJ plays the love song he once wrote for his ex, memories flood back: kisses in the car, secret touches in the bathroom, and photos that still live in his phone. Sober, she claims she has moved on; drunk, she cries to her friends that life feels empty without him. The contrast exposes how both lovers are stuck between pride and nostalgia, wishing they could jump into an alternate reality where their romance ended más bonito—more beautifully.
Despite the playful slang and swagger—“¿Qué pedo?”, “Ahí voy yo de pendejo”—the core message is bittersweet: love can be messy, timing can be cruel, and even the toughest partygoers shed tears when the right song hits. The track captures that moment when the buzz fades, the lights come up, and you realize the only thing stronger than the alcohol is the memory of the person you still know too well.
BELIKON plunges us into the modern world of the corrido bélico, a sub-genre that blends regional Mexican sounds with trap swagger and battlefield bravado. The title comes from the slang bélico which means “war-like”, and the song lives up to the name: roaring Lamborghinis, armored trucks, Russian bodyguards, and designer diamonds show off the crew’s wealth while automatic rifles keep their enemies at bay. Gabito Ballesteros, Luis R Conriquez, and Tito Double P paint a cinematic scene of power moves in Tijuana, where coded radio earpieces, high-caliber “cincuentón” guns, and an endless flow of cash, drugs, and champagne set the tone.
Behind the flashy images lies a message of loyalty and intimidation. The singers brag that people either fall in line or get “aligned” by force, highlighting the thin line between luxury and danger. Military boots mix with high-end fashion, Molly mixes with Dom Péri, and everyone knows the boss’s orders are absolute. In short, BELIKON is a high-octane anthem that glorifies a life of excess, toughness, and iron-clad hierarchy, all wrapped in pulsating guitars and a catchy hook that makes the gritty story feel like an action-packed movie you cannot stop watching.
Gabito Ballesteros turns a broken heart into a fiery corrido-pop confession in “Cuento De Hadas.” The narrator dreamed of a fairy-tale romance, but reality hits hard when his girlfriend trades loyalty for clout, luxury bags, and TikTok fame. With playful sarcasm, he compares her cheating to a unicorn’s horn and mocks her obsession with heels, a Birkin, and ‘ramo buchón’ flower bouquets. Each punchy line exposes how social-media vanity and quick cash have replaced genuine love, leaving his once-bright future “all lost.”
Under the catchy guitars lies a rant full of modern references that any Gen-Z listener will spot. Dropped calls on Telcel, vanished edits set to Madonna, and fantasies of YouTuber wealth paint a picture of a relationship hijacked by status chasing. By the end, Gabito calls out her shallow price tag—“five pesos”—and tells her to toss the chocolates and cute gestures away. The song blends humor, frustration, and cultural nods to show that fairy tales can crumble fast when materialism takes center stage.
From the very first line, Gabito Ballesteros and DannyLux plunge us into the world of the belico enamorado – a battle-ready romantic who sports gold chains, keeps a rifle close, and still finds time to fall head-over-heels. He brags that no one will snatch his girl away, flashing both cash and bravado, yet immediately softens with the promise “Bebé, te voy a proteger.” This push-and-pull between toughness and tenderness sits at the heart of today’s corridos tumbados, where street swagger meets open-hearted love songs.
Under the bright guitars, the lyrics sketch a vivid scene: tropical drinks, Bad Bunny sing-alongs, and dreams of escaping the dust for a sun-soaked summer. Still, danger never feels far—the singer is always "armed and ready" should anyone try to step in. The result is a “ride or die” love anthem that celebrates devotion while acknowledging the risky world that surrounds it: he offers his heart unconditionally, but keeps bullets in the chamber just in case.
Bichi is a neon-lit snapshot of a wild night in Culiacán where Gabito Ballesteros and Chino Pacas trade verses about living fast and carefree. Surrounded by "princesitas" who switch between la blanca (cocaine) and María (marijuana), the duo flaunt a hedonistic mix of late-night drives, skinny-dip pool parties, and a steady rain of cash. Cell phones go dark, jaws go numb, and the only plan is to stretch the fiesta until sunrise with “cuchara y pastel” — street slang for more powder and cake-sweet thrills.
Beneath the glossy party talk the song carries an undercurrent of ambition. Gabito brags that he is “eating up the world” and climbing to the top while refusing to worry about tomorrow. Rules, heartbreak, and consequences all melt away in the glow of the club lights. “Bichi” ultimately celebrates that rebellious moment when youth, money, and bravado collide, inviting listeners to taste the rush — just long enough to feel invincible.
Ando En Lo Malo plunges us into the high-octane universe of modern Mexican corridos, where Gabito Ballesteros and Adriel Favela paint the portrait of an outlaw who lives for the rush. The title roughly translates to “I’m into the bad life,” and the lyrics are a vivid checklist of that life’s essentials: drugs that keep the eyes wide open, an AK-47 (el cuerno) that never leaves his side, quick stacks of cash (pacas), and the constant shadow of death (la calaca). The narrator moves through the night with sharpened instincts, bragging about Italian-mafia style and a personalized pistol “that carries the devil in its grips,” all while knowing every day is a coin-flip gamble (esto es un volado).
Far from glorifying mindless violence, the song captures the raw mentality of someone who feels safer surrounded by weapons than memories. He fears nothing, trusts few, and savors fleeting thrills because “esta vida es prestada”—this life is only on loan. Listeners get an unfiltered look at the adrenaline, bravado, and paranoia that drive the character forward, making the track both a catchy anthem and a cautionary snapshot of the perilous narco lifestyle that shapes parts of contemporary Mexico.