| Dolphins go dancing on the beaches
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| Elephants go dancing in unknown cemeteries
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| The clouds dance on the horizon
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| Trains go dancing in paid museums
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| And you, where are you going to dance?
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| Come and dance in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia
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| Tremulus like a leaf, leaf, leaf
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| Keep your head up when you pass the crane
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| Because it can happen that it comes off and comes down
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| Hey tourist, I know you stay in this Italian place
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| Careful, you cross the pass but this land sends you to the asylum
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| Adriatic and Ionian Sea, you want to breathe iodine
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| But here in the gulf there is a stench of sulfur, that the devil is coming
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| Scary tan with ILVA dioxin
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| Here you get redder polka dots than Milva and then you look like Pimpa.
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| In the area they sell the best die-offs:
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| Some have smoked ENI poisons
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| Who worked and went into a coma
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| Even the Gargano smokes, with all those forests on
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| Tourist, you dance and sing, I count the dead of this country
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| Where those clever ones who do business, no, they don't spare any expense
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| They think the Kyoto Protocol is a Japanese erotic film
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| Come and dance in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia
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| Where the night is dark dark
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| So much so that you close your eyelids and never reopen them
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| Come dance and scratch your balls too
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| That you have to dance in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia
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| Tremulus like a leaf, leaf, leaf
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| Keep your head up when you pass the crane
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| Because it can happen that it comes off and comes down
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| True, there is a party here, but people are depressed and flat
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| I have a friend who had to get hired at the factory to kill himself
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| Between a falling pole and a bursting pipe
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| In that bedlam those who work hard mate
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| And those who do not work buy the stuff and break through
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| Until it clutters the grave
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| Come and dance, buddy, in the tomato fields
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| Where the mafia enslaves the workers
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| And if you rebel, go outside
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| Romanians huddled in closets
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| Like peeled tomatoes in jars
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| Forced to suffer the blackmail of big men but like confetti
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| Tourist, stay with your sandals, do not make a scandal if we are ungrateful
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| And we forgot that we are children of emigrants
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| Mortify, we won't ruin your trip
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| Come on, go to Puglia, go to a better life
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| Come and dance in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia
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| Where the night is dark, dark, dark
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| So much so that you close your eyelids and never reopen them
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| Come dance and scratch your balls too
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| That you have to dance in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia
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| Where the executioner awaits you, executioner, executioner
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| On street corners, more swords than King Arthur
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| The chasm opens and you go straight to Beelzebub
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| Oh Puglia, my Puglia you, my Puglia
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| I always carry you in my heart when I go away
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| And immediately I think I could die without you
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| And immediately I think I could die with you too
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| Silence, silence in the classroom!
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| Mr. Rezza Capa is accused of insulting mass tourism and infamy
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| towards the front
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| Does the accused have something to rectify?
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| Not now mister judge, i'm playing videogames |