I walk into the room, I’m the best-looking one in here
I don’t walk backward, I’m not named Michael Jackson
I’m in shape, I’m making a bang, spending money and I don’t care
I can’t even feel my mouth anymore, money in my pocket and everything’s fine
In Milan, on the street, I dance the waltz
Papa K has scales in his socks
I have a friend who has a friend who does Carmine
He sells [?] for a living and is an accountant
I do a K, another K, fans of the scratch
Tonight for dinner, I eat a kilo of potatoes
And only those who care about me can speak badly
Because my friend shoots if he doesn’t understand things
If I don’t understand, I shoot, I make money, not [?]
If you read my palm, I’ll be filthy rich
We’re like Inter, Milan, the pyramids of Cairo
We’re good, dear, and skilled, you mess up, we shoot at someone you love, Nerissima
And I’m good at making them, much better at counting them
Pieces in San Carlo, at fifteen, I was selling grams
Going to school is right, if you then buy an Audi
Put on the perfume, we eat sausages and sauerkraut at the stall
I walk into the room, I’m the best-looking one in here
I don’t walk backward, I’m not named Michael Jackson
I’m in shape, I’m making a bang, spending money and I don’t care
I can’t even feel my mouth anymore, money in my pocket and everything’s fine
In Milan, on the street, I dance the waltz
Papa K has scales in his socks
I have a friend who has a friend who does Carmine
He sells [?] for a living and is an accountant
I have a friend who snorts with Barilla pens
He rolls some serious rigatoni and then takes apart the kitchen
He says, “Fibra, pull, it tastes like medicine”
That we looked like “Doctors on the Frontline”
I heard your album, bro, but are you serious?
It’s zero effort, sounds like a damn joke
We won’t collaborate, my verse for you is like a grave in the cemetery (I mean)
You can put a cross on it
The economy turns, does whatever the hell it wants
It seems like dancing, move those cheeks
We’ll make this money do the waltz
If you don’t approve, get the hell out of here
I walk into the room, I’m the best-looking one in here
I don’t walk backward, I’m not named Michael Jackson
I’m in shape, I’m making a bang, spending money and I don’t care
I can’t even feel my mouth anymore, money in my pocket and everything’s fine
In Milan, on the street, I dance the waltz
Papa K has scales in his socks
I have a friend who has a friend who does Carmine
He sells [?] for a living and is an accountant
For a living, I sell smoke and make more money than a lawyer
And I don’t do small-time stuff, I’ve got it in my pocket and it’s not Parmesan
My brother is eating while unwrapping the package
While I’m weighing a kilo, he’s already selling another