pauline crespo y sus fotos robadas

She likes gasoline, give me more gas, I love gasoline, give me more gas.

She turns on the turbine, doesn't discriminate, doesn't lose a set of marquees.

He spruces himself up with a corner, looks so good that even the shadow combines him.

He kills, he dominates me, the car, the engine, the mood, fills his blood with adrenaline.

When she hears reggaeton in the kitchen, she likes gasoline, give me more gas, I love gasoline, give me more gas.