Che Gusto C'è (feat. Tredici Pietro)

It's an obsession, ladies and gentlemen
Italian rap, pizza, Briatore
Crazy, I've been thinking about it for months
I'm about to burst (oh)
Haven't made a dime in too long (yeah)
It's time to make a move (haha)
Before I have a heart attack, everyone listen up (everyone)
I’ll eat these rappers alive (eat 'em)
With the record, I’ll bounce back (bounce back)
Maybe I’ll take stock (take stock)
But you, you’re cooking the books
This job, bro, I fly, yeah, like Il Volo (yeah, like Il Volo)
But I sing alone, gold bracelets, start with the chorus (let's go)

Uh, I want to make cash, an important profile
We all want a bit of the same things
You end up broke, I close the shutters
But then I wonder

What's the point?
If everyone’s always better off than you
From Porto Cervo to Saint-Tropez
But what a beauty, look, the sky lights up
Maybe it’ll explode, what's the point?

Italy, cannelloni and panettone
Since Berlusconi died
We all feel better
He used to shove his millions in our faces
We all want a life of luxury
To know the taste, Fred Bongusto
Fixed rates, mortgages, payments
It’s life that hits us with bullets (brr)
Load and shoot, people hoping, feeling Sfera (sfera)
People strutting, waiting in line without a dime
Bukowski said it too (what?)
At work, you suffer, Post Office (ah)
With the rich outside gossiping with our money

What's the point?
If everyone’s always better off than you
From Porto Cervo to Saint-Tropez
But what a beauty, look, the sky lights up
Maybe it’ll explode, what's the point?

You play Big Brother, yeah, but you don’t break through (no)
Like you have a success that lasts two seconds (eh)
I’m focused on the numbers, not dating sites
Here, everyone’s a singer (singer), who do you think I am? (Think I am?)
Uh, so many hearts, fake loves in the papers all the same
Rovagnati feelings (hey), vacuum-sealed, sliced
Italians believe in dreams that come true
In weddings, in the famous, then alone they ask themselves (what?)

What's the point?
If everyone’s always better off than you
From Porto Cervo to Saint-Tropez
But what a beauty, look, the sky lights up
Maybe it’ll explode, what's the point?

We’re all singers (yeah)
But there are no songs (no)
And we’re all important (yeah)
Where are the idiots? (Oh)
Don’t trust the papers, Italy is beautiful
Look at that sea, that sea, that sea
What's the point?