[Pepp J One]
Selfishness and careerism: this is what I see in what certain little pieces of shit do / The nicest clothes with their mothers' money Television and radio give the miser a living / The media is creating myths, ridiculing life and you see a 16 year old idiot who imitates false prophets well / And we bear bruises, we are limited by the militias of Naples Even children have vices and they go to the other world with a sentence The head full of cocaine and the gun resting on his chest / And me? First I sketch and then I reflect Preparing the rap for the generations on their feet, outside the lines they look for affection and find judgments / The school brings the grades and outside the wheel of injustice turns The fire lights up
Rit. x4
And tell him: every brother is a rebel. Dirty clothes and broken hands feed their children
[GranStà M.S.V.]
Oh Eternal Father! But how is it?! I see that the best throw themselves to the ground and the stupid people think they are great Generally without respect for each other / Rude, degenerate generation People with their heads fused in their thorns without spines / Ah, "anarchy" bro?! You have to find it hard! Naive parents support young people They act tough but are fragile: slaves to the judgment of others, slaves to money / Girls at 13 already no longer have it Bodies sold off just for a bit of glory on TV / False generalities Scruffy All Masaniello but with inverted ideals: anything other than Robespierre/ Raised with violence in video games, easy drugs in video clips, sex on laptops/ Genetically modified this new generation that vents in rap, without going off on a tangent
Rit. x4
['O Iank]
Weddings and jewels: this is what some girls want Social life on Saturday evenings/ At 15 the father in prison: these are the stories I hear/ Middle school: we talk about sex , in the bathrooms you change and exchange and nothing happens / Who pretends not to see The 50 cars cannot be counted, the subs break through / The bottle is being eaten by many of them The nerves explode, the heads are jumping / I walk in the middle of the crowd This the city is lame but it doesn't give up You can feel it on you: change gear and put it in neutral / Gold around your neck The Tissot tell you the time / Studio Aperto presents us to all of Italy as if it were a show / It's not California: angels don't they fly, mouths that eat, heads sweat,/ bangs in the shutters, shops close/ heavy thoughts: my hands write
Rit. x4
[Sir Fernandez]
Tell them about the color of the skin wounds of the kids They talk about stars, they fuck up history/ For them they are whores and guns, brothers in prison It's not true and still benches in the evenings/ Cars and scooters is what he believes in. You don't admire the goal, you die of envy/ And the more you consume, the more it sinks. It's the leader of the world, your heart races. It's a life that's collapsing/ To the displeasure of mothers, you look for a crowd without ideals We're talking about investigations/ There's no need for education: it's the road that teaches them, it's the road that varies the clearer world bathed in mud/ Adolescents already tired of a heavy life, with the first hint it already brings you the bill and if she is born crooked she doesn't care what she wears/ Dirty clothes, broken hands, heads raised in front of the fight
Rit. x4