Poh-poh, poh-poh (Rhove), ah
Police officers surround the street
I was a baby without self-esteem
Okay (my friends did), okay, okay
No, no, no, no

Police officers surround the street
I was a baby without self-esteem
If I did what my friends did
Maybe now, yes, I would be committing a robbery, ah
Ten went down that street
Ten are on cocaine
Think that they used to come on trips with me
One got saved and it's me
Ten are with me in the label "La Provincia"
Bring your resume, if you went to Bocconi, I won't take you
Mom used to give you pasta in bites like a baby
You didn't know she was giving blowjobs, it was a meme
These girls want to end up on "smash or pass" (no, no, remove this one, okay)
Eh, eh, I swear, I don't give a damn about the jewelry
My associates don't like your filth
We were born in the banlieues, in the middle of Lazzaria
On the cars, they have an Albanian flag
I still have the arrogance and humility of the zones
Before taking you out, I ask you please
And for you, I swear, I don't feel any emotion
I will leave a memory of mine on your graves

(And you know it, yes)
When I'm inside the club, I'm in a tracksuit
Without Hermès belts, ball in the pocket
First inside the fêtes, now I sneak in
First inside the head, I have the moolah, now I play squash
I'm still in a Punto, not in a Porsche
Even if I have purple bills in the bag
First dressed at Rho Center, now we are dressed as rappers

Ahah, ten years ago I was in the VIP of Hollywood
With shorts, I don't know if I make myself clear
I've always entered in a tracksuit and the security is silent

Yes, yes, yo, I raise the middle finger if you expected a gesture from me (fuck)
I'm on the throne, I've been here for a while
You buy her clothes, but I'm the one who undresses her
It's a headbutt, bro, not a text
George Best, yo, on the field, I'm the best-off
I enter as I want, I don't care about the dress code
I was at Melchiorre Gioia with Adidas with velcro
Then on a Merc' or at Melrose
Paris, London, Tokyo, Bogota
I was among the crossed legs, Polo Ralph horses
My tongue is a .9, it kills without leaving evidence
It decides for every generation (I swear)
I'm on my homie Rhove's record (Rhove)
I'm the champion, pouring champo
Fucking, view of Champs, yo, the account is large, bitch

(And you know it, yes)
When I'm inside the club, I'm in a tracksuit
Without Hermès belts, ball in the pocket
First inside the fêtes, now I sneak in
First inside the head, I have the moolah, now I play squash
I'm still in a Punto, not in a Porsche
Even if I have purple bills in the bag
First dressed at Rho Center, now we are dressed as rappers

Grr, yeah, okay
Mad in an hour lights the fire in the province

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