Learn Spanish With Morad with these 11 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Morad turns the stadium roar into a rap anthem. The track opens with a breathless commentator praising a “¡golazo de Lamine!”, setting the tone for a song that feels like a last-minute winner in the Champions League. Lamine Yamal’s left-foot thunderbolt is more than just a football highlight; it becomes a symbol of sudden, unstoppable success. Morad shouts the young star’s name like a chant from the terraces, using the rush of the game to celebrate talent that refuses to be overlooked.
Beneath the crowd noise, however, Morad’s verses dive into the gritty streets he calls home. He warns listeners to “vigila siempre tu espalda” and describes hustling for money “sin caramelos,” painting a picture of survival where loyalty is rare and cheap choices come at a high price. The repeated line “Mamá es de África, papá es de África” grounds his pride in immigrant roots, while “el 304” stakes a claim for the neighborhood that shaped him. By paralleling his own grind with Lamine Yamal’s meteoric rise, Morad delivers a motivational shout-out to anyone chasing dreams: keep your head up, stay authentic, and aim your shot straight into the top corner.
Lo Que Tiene is a punchy blend of Spanish street-slang and Mediterranean melodies where Morad, Beny Jr, and Rvfv confess that they simply cannot shake a woman’s spell. From the first verse we learn she is a head-turning modelo de pasarela, totally self-made and fiercely independent. The guys spend their days day-dreaming about her, writing songs and even whole books in her honor, yet she keeps reminding them she can entertain herself and pay her own bills. That contrast - her freedom versus their fascination - fuels both the flirtation and the frustration.
Beneath the club-ready beat is a tug-of-war between desire and doubt. Each rapper brags, begs, and bargains: they imagine kids, a house, a Mercedes, but also sneak around parents, fend off gossip, and wrestle with jealousy. The chorus repeats “no sé lo que tiene” – they do not know what it is she has – highlighting how love can feel like an unsolved riddle. Ultimately, the song celebrates a modern romance where independence is attractive, temptation is magnetic, and the mystery of someone’s “it factor” keeps you hitting replay.
Morad and J Abecia turn up the summer heat with “Chula,” a breezy love anthem that mixes street swagger with wide-eyed romance. Over a hypnotic beat, the narrator locks eyes with a girl who instantly steals his heart. He keeps calling her chula—Spanish slang for “cutie” or “sweetheart”—and promises to be her chulo, the loyal guy who protects his treasure. From moonlit drives and steamy car windows to daydreams of giving her the whole sky, every line paints a picture of head-over-heels infatuation that feels spontaneous, playful, and irresistible.
Beneath the flirtatious tone, the song also hints at real-world struggles. Morad references nights hustling for money, cold walks through Algeciras, and the lingering weight of problems he has carried since childhood. Yet whenever he thinks of his gitana morena, all that stress fades. “Chula” is ultimately about finding a spark so powerful it outshines hardship—a reminder that even in tough times, love can make life feel lighter, louder, and full of promise.
Aprendí feels like Morad is taking us on a rapid tour through the streets where he grew up, pointing out every lesson life carved into his memory. From dodging the police and leaning on his mother’s wise words to spotting fake friends and battling envy, he raps about surviving a neighborhood where loyalty is rare, opportunities are scarce and danger is always around the corner. Yet, in the middle of all that turbulence, he clings to the simple rule his mom taught him: never bite the hand that feeds you, and keep your circle small but solid.
Instead of getting dragged down by bitterness, Morad flips those struggles into fuel for his music. He celebrates how far he has come—from not having money for a bike to driving cars paid in full—while promising he will not slow down as long as his mother can smile. The song pulses with resilience, gratitude and self-belief: no matter how loud the critics, how heavy the problems or how lonely the journey, Morad trusts the grind, his mum and his art to keep him moving forward.
Get ready to dive into “Pelele”, a high-octane rap anthem where Spanish artist Morad flexes his lyrical muscles and street credibility. From the very first lines he contrasts his raw, spontaneous flow with the polished, mainstream sound of rivals who need “four guitarists and an orchestra” just to make a track that still flops at parties. Morad paints himself as the voice of the real calle, writing verses “in five minutes” while others struggle for months. The beat may be playful, but the message is sharp: authenticity wins, and Morad delivers it faster, harder, and cleaner than anyone trying to compete.
At the heart of the song is the taunt “pe-pe-pelele”, a slang way to call someone a puppet or a poser. Morad fires question after question at these so-called tough guys: Where are you hiding? Who in your crew would actually stand up for you? Between mocking laughs and vivid street references, he exposes the gap between image and reality. The chorus becomes a rallying cry that warns pretenders to step aside when the real deal shows up. In short, “Pelele” is both a swagger-packed diss track and a celebration of staying true to one’s roots, reminding listeners that genuine talent and street respect can’t be faked.
Laced with Morad's gritty street realism and RVFV's melodic touch, 'Desespero' plunges us into a late night mind game between two ex lovers. The narrator watches his former partner show off todo lo que quieren to' las mujeres, asking himself if she is testing his jealousy or waiting to see him crumble. Flashbacks tumble out: she snapped the safety on his gun, whispered about their future, and now hides behind a new boyfriend who 'no la quiere'. He is sure that if he calls, she will come running.
Beneath the contagious beat the lyrics tackle jealousy, pride, loneliness, and the false security of money or rebounds. Both hearts feel 'de lana' on the outside yet 'de acero' inside, trying to cover pain with bravado. The song reminds us that no luxury or casual fling can replace true connection; when night falls, each is left counting the seconds and wondering who will speak first.
Morad’s "Pensamientos" (“Thoughts”) invites us into the raw, fast-paced reality of Barcelona’s street life. The repeated “le-le-le” chant feels playful at first, yet it sets the rhythm for a tale about survival, quick money, and the constant push-and-pull between silence and confession. Morad points out that people online love to brag and "explain it all," while on his block most prefer to keep their heads down and simply watch what moves. He reminds listeners that the illegal hustle is rarely about fun; it is about wanting more than life has allowed so far, even if that dream risks bullets, prison, or regret.
In the verses, Morad calls out fake toughness, warning that talking big can get you "fatal" results where he comes from. He paints a cycle: chase fast cash, face violence, then either end up behind bars or in a grave. Yet the chorus proudly shouts “M.D.L.R” (Morad De La Rue, meaning "Morad from the street"), embracing his roots and the old-school code he grew up with. "Pensamientos" is a gritty reflection on ambition, consequence, and street loyalty, wrapped in a catchy hook that lets the message linger long after the beat fades.
Mi Barrio is Morad’s love letter to the streets that raised him. Over a driving beat, the Catalan-Moroccan rapper rewinds to his childhood of patched-up jeans, empty stomachs, and sly hustles to afford a simple ice pop. He paints vivid snapshots of nights in sandals outside the club, running from trouble with a walkie-talkie, and the constant grind of turning “nothing” into musical gold. Each line drips with swagger and wit, but underneath the bravado you feel the hunger—both literal and creative—that pushed him from the bottom “to the clouds.”
The chorus hammers home the heart of the track: the barrio is everything. No matter how high his career climbs, Morad insists he is “always in my neighborhood,” protected by its loyalty and unspoken codes. The streets may be rough, yet they are a softer place for him than the wider world. “Mi Barrio” is at once a gritty diary and a victory anthem, reminding listeners that true success is measured not just by escaping your roots, but by lifting them up with you.
“Normal” throws you straight into Morad’s neighborhood in L’Hospitalet, Barcelona, where sirens, tight budgets, and big dreams are part of the daily soundtrack. By repeating “Odio a los azules, también los picolo” (I hate the blues, I hate the cops), the rapper vents his distrust of the police while sketching the tough reality of youngsters who hustle for cash not to show off, but to feed the family and escape poverty. For Morad, watching friends run from officers, dive into risky jobs, or even cross the sea at 17 to support their mothers is, sadly, “normal.”
Yet the song is more than street angst. Morad also calls out fake online gangsters, praises his crew M.D.L.R as true family, and admits his own mood swings: sometimes focused on money, sometimes lost in thought, sometimes rapping into a mic that now puts food on the table. In short, “Normal” is a raw but upbeat reminder that survival, loyalty, and ambition can grow side by side in the concrete jungle—just don’t confuse real life with console-game fantasy.
“Lo Niego” introduces us to Morad’s raw inner dialogue, where trust is scarce and self-reliance reigns supreme. Over a hypnotic beat the Spanish-Moroccan rapper scans his surroundings, deciding he would rather walk alone than stumble beside people who are “blind” to reality. He repeats “No soy malo, lo niego” (“I’m not bad, I deny it”) like a personal mantra, insisting that standing up for himself and protecting his ego does not make him the villain. The verses bounce between street wisdom and hard-won lessons: friends who turned cold for money, the danger of false façades, and the constant need to keep an escape route ready.
Yet beneath the tough exterior lies a motivational spark. Morad reminds us that life is full of ups and downs, but strong values keep the road straight and can still deliver a “buen final.” Better times do not simply appear; you make them. By the end of the track, “Lo Niego” feels like both a cautionary tale and a pep talk, urging listeners to stay real, trust sparingly, and believe that if you can imagine a brighter future, you can build it.
No Estuviste En Lo Malo [Remix] is a raw confession of a love that never quite matched the intensity of the streets surrounding it. Morad, Dellafuente, and Beny Jr trade verses filled with urban imagery—police chases, rivalries, late-night hustles—to show how hard it is to let someone in when survival comes first. The narrator remembers offering the stars to a partner who stayed absent in both the rough moments and the beautiful ones, leaving him caught between loyalty to his crew and the hollow space she left behind.
The chorus circles like a restless mind: he tries not to think, write, or dream about her, yet the memories keep flooding back. This tug-of-war between tough exterior and vulnerable heart makes the song feel like a diary page torn from a hooded jacket. Ultimately, the track says, “I’d rather be alone than half-loved,” capturing the bittersweet truth that sometimes forgetting hurts more than holding on.