Butta Via Tutto

(Chorus)
When I light it up, it gets ugly,
the setup's wrecked
back in business
I won't be left high and dry
there's always a good guy and a crook
one of them gets screwed... throw it all away!
if you dial a three with a double one in front
the cops show up and there's no one left!

(La Furia)
Officer, this is Milan - hey, how do we live it up?
We sing to the madunina but in Sicilian - we got
Smoke - extra - stuff - trip - weed - dope - junk
Mdm - rum and coke until your heart explodes
Face to the glass If you talk to me, I won't respond and hide my hands behind
I ain't got a thing to say to the cops like Peter
there's a meter between me and your gun
and if I grab it, I’ll make a hole so big you scream and it echoes
it's the uniform that only dignifies those without titles
I'm the king of the alleys with the heat inside the rides - hey
I have another law, that of the barrio's crew
bro, it's the block that supports me, just a couple of rules
1-I keep in mind they got steel 2-I don’t bark
3-I don’t talk to the commissioner 4-if the siren sounds, I disappear
in the report, justice has been killed - fuck you
for me, you're just a loser in a uniform

(Chorus)

(Guè)
I gotta figure out why I exist, one less day to death
or you open up paradise for me or I’m busting down these doors
my stomach's strong, 80% of cash is dirty and the sound hits harder
on the back seat, I think of ways to make money
inhaling cancerous smoke, I enjoy the sleep of fools
if you're Italo-Arab or Afro... listen
when I vibe, you enter the beat because I open the beat
I create to reach the creator
he kicks me out of creation, emptying a clip
son of a writer
born on the Lord's day
from the asphalt above a meter
I pause you and send you back
if I’m worth zero to you, united we’re big numbers
my bros make it big, spinning Russian roulette
Cosimo's rolling, pockets full, white face, full moon
they show up and there’s no one left

(Chorus)

(La Furia)
Life starts the same way as vice so -
I’ll have to pay them all on judgment day
the proof that I’m in this world and that I exist isn’t a hint
if the cop's got the iron and we got nothing, it’s not an armistice
and if he shoots for a salary from Breda
wants to teach me to talk but he didn’t even finish middle school
and he hates me because at the end of the month he counts the dimes
while I burn his paycheck in a night at the club

(Guè)
Mega, pass it to me, I got the official material
I don’t want the official who sniffs out my material
I can’t forget the bros pumping the CD
pumping kg, giving high fives, nice Club D
Guè is here, tracing circles with his mind, chill, he’s calm
he’s got the world in his palm, as the psalm says
I alarm when I arrive with the D.O.G.O
I shake the block, the club, and the fucking squat.