| I don't know how the fuck you listen to Povia
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| A sadist would get latex on his knees
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| I know it burns a little to these Italian singers
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| Because we steal his job, brother, like immigrants
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| Many musicians are actually anesthetists
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| Their beauticians are more expressive than their records
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| Abuse of the word artists!
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| For these guys, crazy dogs, they're like Friskies
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| I take the risks!
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| I'm a hip hop gingolo, and gigolo a little
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| Above your childish attempts to make a single
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| I hate any pseudo-journalism a la Lucignolo
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| Uncle, write that I have more talent in my little finger
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| What glitters like magpies attracts me
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| Like someone who gives a double bed
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| With class he controls two squares
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| If the muscles command, the iron is more democratic
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| It's caustic, the effect if I rap over dubstep!
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| All the criticism that we do not listen to
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| If you are committed, unless you are Caparezza
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| If you put on a necklace and dress decently
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| Nothing, in Italy you are no longer intelligent, so ...
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| Thanks for your dose of clichés
|
| I feel blood boiling inside of me
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| I know how to rhyme holy words
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| You are nothing new, nothing special
|
| Thanks for your reassuring dirge
|
| Blood I feel it freezes inside you
|
| I know how to rhyme holy words
|
| You are nothing good nothing special
|
| I feel tight in this place, I try to stay calm
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| I went all over Italy by car, far and wide
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| Destination Heaven-Hell, it doesn't matter much
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| When I die I'll be just a skeleton in the mud
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| When the curtain closes and the lights in the hall go out
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| When the show ends, this shit is bitter
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| I smoke bitter herbs, I land chilling in the hall
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| Narcos Noyz is back in the building, smocking lala!
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| Rising man with a dream in his head that he fulfills
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| 'St'Italia is pizza, this shit paralyzes you
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| I don't go to the holy field like anybody else
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| Remix this shit when I fly away, zi
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| Designed to spoil you, to dig into the human soul
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| Grim hangman crew hatching the plan
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| Someone goes to died tonight, see if I'm not mistaken
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| We're getting caught in the sights at the center of a target
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| Public Enemies of the servants of the state in line
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| Put the hood and the bandana on and hit the street, get up
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| That if we come for the blood, we were always' nvena
|
| Like the bag that cooks you, you pump in the pear!
|
| Thanks for your dose of clichés
|
| I feel blood boiling inside of me
|
| I know how to rhyme holy words
|
| You are nothing new, nothing special
|
| Thanks for your reassuring dirge
|
| Blood I feel it freezes inside you
|
| I know how to rhyme holy words
|
| You are nothing good nothing special |