| Turn the key, uncle, from the Volvo 3000
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| In the back seat while I count the battery
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| With the face in the gaze of the one who takes aim
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| Which means that whoever controls me admires me
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| And off with that merchandise that the police are looking for
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| From packets in the stomach to a friend of mine
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| Weights pass through the glass in the back
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| Because those who work with grams have their eyes behind them
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| I dream of a perfect day like crime
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| On the 525 dello Zio, "Drive straight"
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| In the lead, profit, D.O.G.O style, rap euro, street euro, no D.I.G.O.S
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| It's street cinema, I'm the projector
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| Bro, you find me back there as a protector
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| And if the color in the rearview mirror is blue
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| One moment and you're a believer, praise be to the Lord
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| Young, crazy, and I don't give a fuck
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| In the car arm out and the bulls in the plant
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| Green sheets in his pocket
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| In the other, green flowers
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| You do not know what you're missing
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| Take a walk outside
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| Go slowly, look at that one: "What would I do to him," and so on
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| She with you never, accelerate
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| Safari in the neighborhood, smoke mirages, narcopassaggi
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| Armageddon inside the beverages
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| Four-zone and time dials, 4:20 hours
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| Under the jacket hyenas, they see with the lights off
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| Without effort and studies, young entrepreneur
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| He talks to us for three minutes, the bomb for three hours
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| It's a jackpot if they turn on the terminal
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| It is as a child that these infamous want to finish me
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| And, bro, do you want to take off? |
| If you want you have to collar
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| Tell your folks he doesn't send it, my buddy does buy it
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| Uncle, he does not turn it at all even to those who do not turn it at all
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| If he doesn't pay, he doesn't pull it at all
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| He drops his glasses and sees night forever, eclipse in the morning
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| Valentino's redest eyes
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| Young, crazy, and I don't give a fuck
|
| In the car arm out and the bulls in the plant
|
| Green sheets in his pocket
|
| In the other, green flowers
|
| You do not know what you're missing
|
| Take a walk outside
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| Stop at the traffic lights, look at her on the Ferrari alone
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| She already has a red head, she wants a purple head
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| She is yours with 24k
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| And you see that we miss a stop with you at Motel K.
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| Between ', the siren sounds: Houston, I have a problem
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| Uncle, drop it and turn your back
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| It's jungle, run away from the panther in the streets
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| You have a face that even your mother doesn't like
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| Snow in July, we tear the Naviglio
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| Each finger of the hand a street in Milan
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| The more you want to do bad, the more you don't count for a shit
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| You stare at us from a Tigra, but you want a Z4
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| Rhymes adhering to reality more than you think
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| So they stop me on the street, in every sense
|
| She confesses to me that she is afraid of the future
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| Escaping onto an Enduro, pure heart transplant
|
| Young, crazy, and I don't give a fuck
|
| In the car arm out and the bulls in the plant
|
| Green sheets in his pocket
|
| In the other, green flowers
|
| You do not know what you're missing
|
| Take a walk outside |