“Jodido Facha” explodes like a punk-rock Molotov cocktail hurled at bossy, narrow-minded authority figures. The lyrics stage a fiery face-off between a sneering conservative who scolds the narrator for being a jobless, guitar-strumming “slacker,” and the musician who fires back with raw sarcasm and colourful insults. Every line drips with frustration at society’s double standards: while the so-called facha (slang for a reactionary, fascist-leaning person) lectures about “real work,” he secretly profits from shady business meetings in strip clubs and leans on a justice system that punishes the poor but absolves the rich.
Far from wallowing in defeat, the song turns rebellion into a badge of honour. Hamlet mocks political spin doctors who chase votes then “easily forget,” rages at corruption, and demands equal justice, legalization, and the overhaul of laws that keep ordinary people “eating dirt.” The repeated chorus “¡Jodido facha!” isn’t just an insult—it is a fist-pumping chant against hypocrisy, exploitation, and censorship. In short, this track is a loud, unapologetic anthem of lifelong insubordination that urges listeners to question authority, stand up for their freedoms, and never let the powerful have the last word.