Good morning, today you will stop living
I have certain voices in my head telling me to kill
You are not king, your city is to be redeemed
See Luchè and then you die laughing
Yo, sit down, bro, you can't do it
You call the disk Power, yes, because you don't have it
You are capable of being incompetent in your lives
I'm sorry you never beat me
I remember the Co'Sang you were the shadow of Ntò
Then you became fashion, Brigitte and Bardò
Now you look like a croissant but the empty one
Fuck face, I'll send them your picture to the girls
I use your dialect yes to tell you, 'Kitemmuort'
I love your city even if I don't go there anymore
The only thing that sucks about Naples is you
I'll spit in your mouth, baptize you on the micro
I break the wheels of your tricycle, you can sit on my third toe
Artificial ignorance they built you
You and your third-kind mafia buddy suck
You buy the mansion in Miami with mob money
Watch and learn, I'm going back to Sardinia to buy your coffin
I would like to feed you with a shovel, you are fish in the Sahara
I throw the hook and you fall for it, Niagara
I blow you out with the blow of candles, for you I am Carmelo Bene
You say you rap but at least do it well
For you my singing is miserere, it burns your ass, bro, it shows
Get your hole licked by Dikele
No oh well, SS magazine fucking dictators
I still have a couple put the beat that you lie down
I leave my signature on your forehead, notary
Have you noticed the keyboard rosicone, I don't delete your comments
I'm canceling your career
Complexed, I don't cry over spilled blood
I've already filled your artistic void
At my concert in Naples you played but after me
People were like, 'Who the fuck is Luchè?'
I explain it to you embarrassed
Luca is a wrinkled fifty-year-old who lives in his past, carriedato
But she picked on the wrong guy
I don't knock at all, I enter your house with the tank
Both with rhymes and on the street you get hit
I slap you and you see the rainbow at night
And your teeth like the sound of castanets
You're all talk where ducks fly
I'm the silly brother who gets along with his parents
Yours are support teachers, not professors
The guy could but it doesn't apply
In fact, he has defects in the ability to self-study
You stayed below, you are the new Pino Scotto
It's not New Years but I'll make you bang
I found you a little depressed, I make peace with the others
You make peace with yourself