In The Panchine first I’ll shoot you and then I’ll aim you It is the memory of crack in the cursed house Recording pieces with tascam on cassette Al Brancaleone all’Hombre Lobo in saletta Truceboys revenge, my people don’t respect you In The Panchine is the weekend in strips It’s a pager for a missing whore In The Panchine is rap and I rap you hard It’s the eclipse of pussy when you fuck with Gemello In The Panchine is another story that ends It’s the corpse of a dead Christian In The Panchine there’s nothing more beautiful Than throw hands in two with my twin! I was born in the 1970s in a violent Rome Inspired by the gangsters of the ’30s Those who think big, businessmen, men of honor with big balls The villages mirror themselves with my shit Rebel prison music Not that plastic shit you listen to This is real shit like James of Mexico You can hear it on this demo tape You can look us in the eyes and understand that we’re not fake From the Sert of Casilino I write your destiny in rhyme I shoot at Constantine’s face with a microfine charged with strychnine Your baby wants exclusive music How does your crew hope to get home alive? I step on your Jordans, buggin Out, Bogdan boy scout Truceklan squad, check it out Arm us, melt drugs in your black chinotto What the fuck do you think my rap was born yesterday? These kids went crazy, they fucking went crazy What drugs have you take in the past? It’s coming up again This is ITP on traffik Records High on your stereo For real! This is fomenting stuff, rough stuff Truce like il Klan like Er Monnezza I wanna hang out with Michele Cocuzza I’m lost, dose too big The worst criminals that follows me They’re reflected in my lyrics I incite them to commit crimes in the ghetto If a bouncer doesn’t let you in, take the piece Risk jail, make them respect you Challenge everyone who wants to fuck you up They want to stop you these damned villains And lock you in like John Gotti Watch y’all, we run the street Belligerent like Pistol Pete So mind your own business when I’m rapping Truceklan, Duke Montana, you only have to honor (Check it, muhfucka don’t fuck around, you ain’t shit homie) Truceklan, horrorcore criminal shit We gotta goin’ on, Gel to the Metal Carter Watch what we do, when we do what we gotta do We don’t give a fuck about you In the panchine baby… say what? Sex every day… why not? In the Audi, too fast for polizia Show me paletta, I desappear, Santa Maria Chilling with Tarango, I’m high at the beach Peace to Santino, why am I telling you? The most grimy pusher: Mariuccio de “Amore Tossico” The ’70s with a sword in the arms Is the brown piece that doesn’t set you aside A robbery for 20k, there was still the lira(£) Guns pointed do not let them shoot Casare and compare Out of Sert they want money for dessert 38 and 7, 65 Pushing it on your head The strap is cold but it burns when it sends you to hell Rule 1 bomb under the cruiser, we must be more because the guards are much more Rule 2 destroy the fucking police department, i have so hate inside, it’s an internal violence Number 3, fire the police van, they take you to the police station for a fucking joint Rule 4 catch them in the act, I see the cruiser and I go fucking crazy For any job I have respect, except for those who have the badge on their chest Death to snitches! The uniform is in the things I can’t stand I’m not one of you, I don’t carry a badge I write with pride against this pure shit You won’t spoil us You care more about a joint than a stab in the head The only thing you have left is to be ashamed, forcing people hating you and then shoot you When you don’t know what to say, when these hours doesn’t pass These days I’m anything but good mood This voice that keeps saying, “Don’t sleep” It makes me crazy to death, it’s better not to go out Married with pain, the night is a sweat bath The more I hate, the more I receive love Blue like the sampler screen, this night is thirsty Another priest who loses faith Counting blood on paper coin, stabs on the back The black eye of a romanian girl Each with his step passes And nothing can stop you with the science in your head With the science in your head you can destroy With the science in your head you can build No limit can you give to learning That’s why I’m here, just for this Masito Fresco Colle der Fomento breaking MCs Breaking MCs, breaking MCs You understand g? You understand g? Breaking MCs, breaking MCs Convinced that hip hop is on “Yo! MTV” No no a massive doesn’t act According to rules that an outside party gives When MC’s come on stage, it’s like a monster fight The earth around trembles from the power of the blows Tear down walls and obstacles with heavy moves Rotating blades fly, passers-by are infected It’s the hip hop that moves itself, alone expands Gets inside people’s heads They try to stop him but he doesn’t give up, he self-generate The missing elements in his ranks in a few seconds he eliminates them He moves without being understood, feeds on new ideas, new ideas not to die Evolution, sows panic among the public, atomic impact He’s killing if you can’t handle him like a toxic gas Motherfuckers you’ll never have me You can tell these people that everything is fine And meanwhile tighten your chains tighter You can keep lying To whom? To us boys, your own children Without a shred of shame do V.I.P. Politicians make TV stars But while you’re taking your salary as a congressman People suffer and you don’t even go to work You go around shaming me for being Italian Meanwhile, in the neighborhoods we can’t hold on I’m tired of spaghetti, pizza and mandolino I want a future for me and my son too They talk about freedom, what freedom? Brother wake up and look at this Italy The beautiful country where you have no opportunities If you’re not part of a family or a mafia