| Two years ago we told you our vicissitudes
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| More than CD’s we were selling our bermudas
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| We were without a deal
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| Without shoes and without meal
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| Madam Min cleaned cupfuls my «everyday» was awful
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| Skeleton left us to philosophize
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| Jorgy get back to play his ho-hum borin' craze
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| But nothing disheartened us, neither to be halved
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| So Rob bore hours of bike to get Rod join the band
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| Despite Jerico’s threats he started to thrash
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| What do you fear to rest in briefs without dress?
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| Ten ill-fated years and then we found a worldwide deal
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| We didn’t believe it: a dream becomin' real
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| Roland won great slam and entered Hyades
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| But seeing him on stage we said «who fuck is this?»
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| Skeleton smelt the smell of outcomes
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| Reborn the posse of dead brains 'n' broken bones
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| Wops still thrash
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| It seems we play it well also without mandolino
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| Torre di Pisa, piazza San Marco
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| And the
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| Wops still thrash
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| No pizza, no mafia, no soccer
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| No Moggi, no Totti, no pasta
|
| Wops still thrash
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| Touring across Europe on a ramshackle van
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| Without a motherfuckin' cent
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| But the
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| Wops still thrash
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| Back home we’ll find our bosses angry
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| For our absence from work
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| Lose your illusions and abuse theirs
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| Delay by delay the album goes out on its way
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| No fucking thing of course can go right
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| Clearing CDs through Customs has been a mortal fight
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| Rip-offs are ready to skin this band
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| Never bend forward and always look at your back
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| Nothing brings us down, we are alive and well
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| This album kick ass, we’re gonna raise hell
|
| Wops still thrash
|
| It seems we play it well also without mandolino
|
| Torre di Pisa, piazza San Marco
|
| And the
|
| Wops still thrash
|
| No pizza, no mafia, no soccer
|
| No Moggi, no Totti, no pasta
|
| Wops still thrash
|
| Touring across Europe on a ramshackle van
|
| Without a motherfuckin' cent
|
| But the
|
| Wops still thrash
|
| Back home we’ll find our bosses angry
|
| For our absence from work |