167, ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Three holes and you're K.O., then you walk zigzag
Ah

Click, they make you pa-pa
Three holes and you're K.O., then you walk zigzag
No-Novara is the street, there's no carnival
Two-faced people go K.O., you mess up, you pay, they say bye
No, don't commit crimes and bullshit if you're going to report me later
I have thirty-six centimeters and you taste them all
I'm still among the Trusci, in Novara Brooklyn
Between convictions and expulsions, down here it's still a scramble

167
Click, they make you pa-pa
Novara as home, you mess up, you become halal
There are problems from Jenuia and problems from Kabal
Momo doesn't play the barber, but he keeps zizuzar in his mouth
Zi-zi-zizuar, knock out
Pow-pow, flick out
We come into your ghetto with forty teeth each
750 in mind, 530 under the ass
One hanged himself in a cage, the other expelled from Italy
Nabil escapes from France, Hamza has been out for two days
Dreaming too much of gold then you settle for dreams
Making too much gold, you're not satisfied with copper
The drugs, the hebs, the war, the hess
Hunger, women, stop, racist
Police, bitch, fuck your race
Hood, P9, quickly, robbery

Click, they make you pa-pa
Malnate as home, you make a mistake, you become halal
Au-au detail, I smoke like on Ketama
Extra dry, I don't smoke your shit
How the millions turn
I lost count of the kilos, but never the round
I heard that the friend of that other friend got out
Now only with music he makes triple your friend
Now you ask for photos, you want to be his friend
Click, they make you pow-pow
No boxing or Muay Thai, you die on the street like a dog
Wow, wow, wow, I'm thinking of tripling
I was in the jungle like Guinea Bissau
Between us a chasm, I called Bilal
I put ten on the scale, machete in the ground
My brother au detail, triples the profit
I'm moving ten kilos as if they were a gram

I always call you back like those from Eni Gas
I'll give you a promo if you buy a K of gas
I come from the suburbs, like a favela
My friend is Venezuela, he has a machete in his hands
Propose me a deal, if it's convenient all is well
Pass me this money or I'll find myself under your house
I come from the street, irons or hands on
They want the zaza, I have silver and gold around my neck (ratatata)

Click, they make you pa-pa
Three holes and you're K.O., then you walk zigzag
No-Novara is the street, there's no carnival
Two-faced people go K.O., you mess up, you pay, they say bye
No, don't commit crimes and bullshit if you're going to report me later
I have thirty-six centimeters and you taste them all
I'm still among the Trusci, in Novara Brooklyn
Between convictions and expulsions, down here it's still a scramble

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