Fino A Notte Fonda

Puni, better known as the monk
face against the wall, no weak stomachs
I throw it at your ass and then I splatter it on the plaster
You like it when it’s hard and goes straight down the esophagus
Now, for your sister, I’m a legend like Beckham
She thinks of me
while she runs her finger on webcam
I see rappers gayer than Dawson with Joey Potter
They use Baby Johnson oil to shove it up with poppers
10 years and still here on set
I was rapping when you were still singing "up in the mountains with Annette"
You stick to trimming your sideburns with Gillette
I’m aiming for a tête-à-tête with asses, tits, models, and starlets
Fuck the trends, the dreads, the weekend disco
I want more cash and ass than Brad
Me with my band at Club Med
If God made me funky, it’s 'cause I got style
I feed the soul and it’s stuffed, I gamble my balls in every verse
The sow that acts like a vamp and the fake Donald Trump
I send them home with complexes like Forrest Gump
With a microphone, I’ve got the bite of a Rottweiler
Bombs with timers that wake up assholes with Alzheimer’s

CHORUS X 2
auuuu
nice dance until the deep night
better thong and ass on the side
tell your boyfriend who’s hitting it
come on, come on

Puglia here, Puglia here, land of conquest
smuggling rhymes and Merit like a damn smuggler
God help you if you want to mess with Bari
You want to be an artist but you gotta deal with my crew
from north to south, from east to west
honest!
recognize Puni, the emcee who passes the breathalyzer
on the beat, I create delirium
a martyrdom
I humiliate fags in tears with tissues and eye drops
You find me in the VIP
forget the music video
I move more asses than a 45 from Indeep
every hooker throws me her panties
after a strip in the bathroom, I enjoy and zip down
yeah, yeah, eh ouuuuuuuu
you know who shakes up the dancehall
who ignites funk and soul on every track
and naun
I’m the direct heir of James Brown
ready for the explosion, they start the countdown
trmaun
to set the crowd on fire, I’m working hard
until some cop orders me to clear out
assholes with their dicks on strike are waiting for me
I send them home to mama, still stuttering

CHORUS X 2

At parties all over the boot, I’ve got music that’s heart-stopping
I break limbs of every rival and eat their scraps
write it on the site and on the forum
from the club to the auditorium
I’ll take you on more trips than salvia divinorum
where I come from, there’s no abundance
in the south, you have no choice in every circumstance
it’s torture on the streets, you struggle since childhood
thank goodness your mom’s a hustler and funds me
give me cash for every performance
I bring you thrilling shows and the crowd stays in a trance
for this mein mne'nn
shake that ass in a thong
sway your hip for who will fill your bank account
it’s an avalanche of rhymes at full throttle
every hooker in the VIP for body tequila and lime
it hits hard for the weak, but that’s the way it is
Milota
sends you to sell mattresses with Giorgio Mastrota

CHORUS X 3