[Intro]
Ay, yeah
333 Mob
Ay 3 Mob, Mob, ay, Mob
Ay, Mob, Mob, Mob, okay

[Verse 1: Lazza]
This jacket is not mine, like Don Pietro (ooh)
Your son is in the parish with the don behind him (yeah)
Bros are like: "That's Zzala", and I don't deny it (Zzala)
I sign with a "Z" on the door, like don Diego (fuego)
I haven't lost my hunger, I hope that's enough for you (ay)
But I'm skipping lunch to get to another level, bro (ay)
My album is out, best wishes and sons (best wishes)
It seems like you're just born, 'cause you're being slapped (yeah)
Ay, good album (eh), here's the Golden Dummy (here it is)
You act likе a G, but you're a teddy bear, Coccolino (ay)
I go out at night and I don't comе back alive (yeah)
With my flow I spit in your asshole, like a pornstar
Freshness, bro, washed, Perlana
With this bitch on the bed, already washed for anal, ay
Don't fuck with me, you don't want to do it (Zzala)
I say almost nothing, but I say it well

[Bridge: Lazza]
You can't fuck with the Mob
Mob, Mob, Mob, Mob
Mob, Mob, Mob, Mob
Mob, Mob, Mob, 3
Mob, Mob, Mob
[Verse 2: Nitro]
Yeah, another day, I wake up and run, bad karma
I go all-in on myself when I play Fantasy-dead
I'm a film about happiness with a plot that is dark
As if you ware in a water park and someone screamed: "Allahu Akbar"
I grid my teeth against my issues and various shit
Among marginal brothers with imaginary brains
For me, you go on stage and show what you're worth
Otherwise you'd be the first man with vaginal problems, adieu
I fuck this life fast
So I always have the seven of diamonds under my saddle pad
You're still surprised that nobody understands you
But you're making albums while cleaning your ass with shit
I'm a legend like B. B. King
They film me in my underwear while I'm jerking off
On a Skin's album, on-air on BBC
Oops, I did it again, like Britney Spears
I'm the MVP, the "Next big thing", epic win
Either it's rap, trap, either it's classic shit
I piss on your dead body, condolences and rest in "piss"
Buried in my closet, between my old baggy jeans

[Verse 3: Salmo]
Mic check, platinum record bruh, Hellvisback
You say you like rap, I recommend you Nek
You're so lario, you should call yourself Ilario
Be clear, call a good hitman to stop me (ah)
I don't have a cue, but I've got a bazooka, send the eight ball in the hole
I piss on my brand new shoes, pierce my tracksuit
Vomit on my hoodie, thanks to the Sambuca
But I live fast, and what doesn't kill me sucks me
I rear up with my flow, on a scooter
Your girl's a laryngologist, ENT
The world is mine, my way, when I rap, son
I'm your father, don't call me bro
Go smooth like gin, read in the bio
That I'm not James Dean, bro, I'm James Dio
My sound sodomizes you, like balls in your mouth
My people don't want to skin you, they give you goosebumps
I stretch the red carpet, I'm Fred's Carpet
You can't see this Zalando, I hold your candle
You're just kids in an empire of cards
If I cry and complain I'll have a tour on Mars (haha)
Your kid doesn't listen to me, he senses me
I know he's clever, he gets me
I quit tomorrow, this rap game disappears
I admit it, this song has a flaw