Shiva’s “Soldi Puliti” is a flashy, high-octane snapshot of a hustler who barges into VIP parties uninvited, flaunts designer labels, and turns shady earnings into seemingly clean money. The lyrics swing between swagger and suspense: luxury cars roar, nine-millimeter danger lurks, and the rapper’s heart feels like cold metal behind a shop shutter. Each bar mixes vivid bragging (Hermès suits, untouched €6,000 jackets) with the constant buzz of street survival, as if riches and risk ride in the same Brabus.
Beneath the glitter, Shiva wrestles with loyalty, faith, and the heavy price of his environment. He calls out fake colleagues, vows never to betray his crew, and admits that prayer raises church costs more than it fixes problems. Critics make memes while he makes millions, but even success is a shield he keeps polishing to fend off the “devil” chasing him. In short, “Soldi Puliti” is both a celebration of rapid wealth and a cautionary anthem about the shadows that cling to every euro earned.