NANANANA Lyrics – Matuê & OS NANA | from “XTRANHO”

Matuê’s XTRANHO just slammed the trap door wide on December 10 via 30PRAUM, a third-album gut-punch that reeks of underground rebellion, and NANANANA slips in like that post-smoke haze—OS NANA’s duo dropping gems on the come-up, from Bronx dial-ups to Brazil’s brabos, proving the wave never really dipped.

This interludio is Matuê’s sly breather amid the chaos: a spoken-word vignette clocking under two minutes, all raw patter and ad-lib laughs over faint, foggy beats that nod to his signature hazy trap. It’s Brazilian urban poetry—think phonk-tinged reminiscence laced with Ghanian flair from the N.A.N.A twins, Panyin and Kakra, who trade bars like old heads swapping war stories.

Thematically, it’s pure origin flex: mocking the early doubters, shouting out global kin from Ghana to the Bronx, and toasting the trap’s revival with fresh frozen clouds and Balenciaga flexes. No heavy drops here; it’s creative direction at its chillest—Matuê curating a family affair that underscores XTRANHO’s ethos of staying iced and authentic, even as the ice drips down your neck. Teased in his Insta countdowns, it had fans buzzing about that “real underground shit” line, turning it into a TikTok toast for the grinders.

XTRANHO lives up to its “strange” name, a 13-track fever of trap’s weirder edges—opener REI TUÊ sets the royal rumble, weaving through collabs like ÍCONE FASHION with kouth, AUTOBAHN’s Cashley sprint, and heavy hitters on FACAS E MACHADOS with FAB GODAMN and okie. It’s got that vault-vibe concept: pulling from Matuê’s cryptic notebook, blending phonk haze, auto-tuned confessions, and producers like BNYX® and Neckklace for a sound that’s equal parts cemetery introspection (MEU CEMITÉRIO) and backstage bravado.

Matuê’s dropping this at his most untethered peak, five years past his self-titled breakthrough that flipped Fortaleza trap into national fever, and fresh off 333’s experimental haze that packed festivals from Lollapalooza to Rock in Rio. The 30-year-old visionary—who ditched engineering dreams for mic fiends—is evolving from solo cypher king to crew curator, trading lone-wolf leaks for this familial flex that screams “we made it, but we ain’t forgetting.” It’s him owning the strange, one hazy hook at a time.