This is Italy, a school for nuns
My favorite team, I swear, I love it
Without work, without resentment, hey, hey
This is Italy, guns and dialect
They speak loudly, brother, it's not that I don't hear
I just don't fucking understand what you said to me
Correct restricted coffee, the summer the fucking Cornetto
Boys who grew up on the pitch
Then take to the streets to fight
Kissing the rings of severed hands
Unemployed with paid holidays
The mafia doesn't take holidays, they kill you in the summer
They make a TV series about it
It's all already seen as déjà-vu, yeah
The technology that takes us far
We struggle to speak Italian
I still have social problems
Luckily, this year we win the World Cup
But without the vomit bags
Bodies covered in scratches
But they always get applause
Ninety minutes of applause, eoh
This is Italy, it's a twisted mind
Shut your mouth or I'll take away your supply
Information, you know, doesn't inform here
Racists who listen to hip hop, something doesn't add up
Italy and its snobbish charm
An old work that has lasted for a while
It doesn't find an ending like Turandot
They open the accounts, but close the ports
They steal money, it's impossible to resist
People smile with cuts on their wrists
Struggling in a sea of hate
I haven't seen God, but we know each other
I hate the church, but I'm a Christian
Before being a true Italian
But without the vomit bags
Bodies covered in scratches
But they always get applause
Ninety minutes of applause, eoh
In summer in Italy, Latin influence
They're looking for the summer hit
It seems they have kennel cough
I'm not giving these bullshit rappers a pass
I'll go back to the top to give it a boost
But without the vomit bags
Bodies covered in scratches
But they always get applause
Ninety minutes of applause, eoh