But how many educated singers, these speakers
Tell me, do you also not pay taxes like me?
Come on, do you really declare the heaps of money you make?
You seem holier than a monk, for the masses

And if so, hats off
Top of the class? Why am I absent?
The teachers and the janitor think I'm a fool
They tie my hands but I write with my bird
If I talk nonsense everyone says "how nice!"
If I stir up controversy I'm meat for the slaughter

For heaven's sake, much better the banalities
Talking about emotions, that's the motto
How is it? Don't you find the bang emotional
If you wait a second I'll propose it from below
I don't give a damn about poetry
I myself was born because of a broken condom
(But damn, accidents)
For seven, for eight, biscuit

That's why I follow the law of the nettle
That incites me every day
When I write down the text, what can I tell you
There's no taste if it doesn't irritate
That's why I follow the law of the nettle
That incites me every day
When I write down the text, what can I tell you
There's no taste if it doesn't irritate

Speak of love, sir
Of the love that does not die
But you don't conclude a bond
Your ladies call you infamous, they become nuns for you

You don't recognize the offspring
Feed it like a good shepherd
Instead of shooting arrows at the heart
To screw you all the copyright rights

But what is love? But what is love?
It's a concept that means everything and nothing
From the discounted love of the man in love
To love in a broad sense for people
Dear teacher, it feels like you're lying
You are the lover who wants to become the student
Your dinghy makes more water than an incontinent
For those who love to be pungent

That's why I follow the law of the nettle
That incites me every day
When I write down the text, what can I tell you
There's no taste if it doesn't irritate
That's why I follow the law of the nettle
That incites me every day
When I write down the text, what can I tell you
There's no taste if it doesn't irritate

I like those who are out of tune, who distort what they play
The singer with the good voice can go to hell
I'll stay in the choir of the clergy
Instead of parading in black at the proud gala
But what charity, that's a den of fools
With the paparazzo who says, "Look here!"
But, on that photo there
My canary makes mountains of poop
They sing cheerful hit and run motives
Built with more calculations than in Fiuggi
If the cow doesn't breastfeed
What do you milk? What do you sting? Not me, stay away from me

I run away with a skid
If I have something to say to my beloved, I put her bent over
A-ha, my adored, love is not said, it is done
Here I am for the pile-up

That's why I follow the law of the nettle, a ah
When I write down the text, what can I tell you, a ah
That's why I follow the law of the nettle, a ah
When I write down the text, what can I tell you, a ah
We work and we struggle for the law of the nettle

La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la la

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