Recycled J turns public insults into a loud, sarcastic self-portrait. The chorus calls him “la oveja negra, manzana podrida” [the black sheep, the rotten apple], someone accused of wearing lies and being “lo peor que te ha pasado en la vida” [the worst thing that has ever happened to you]. He even repeats “soy un fracasao’, soy un perdedor” [I’m a failure, I’m a loser], then adds “soy rosa algodón, soy un maricón” [I’m pink cotton, I’m a f****t]. The last word is a homophobic slur in Spanish, and here it appears as one more label thrown at him, delivered with deliberate provocation. Instead of quietly defending himself, he makes the insults part of the performance.
The song then shows what his music means to people who come to him in private. He talks to strangers in a bathroom who say they grew through his music and escaped the troubles they were in: “gracias a mi music del agujero han salí’o” [thanks to my music, they got out of the hole]. He contrasts that with people who follow the crowd, while he keeps working to “ponerlo a girar” [make it spin, or keep it moving]. The second verse becomes wonderfully strange and theatrical: he arrives to “casarme contigo y tu madre” [marry you and your mother], offering young people his face, art, singing, and dancing. Images of velvet, hard money, frost, cement, rain, tattooed memories, and the man in the mirror make him sound both playful and battle-worn. His answer to every accusation is simple: people can talk, but “el tiempo a todos les pondrá en su lugar” [time will put everyone in their place].