NOYZ NARCOS: - northface - air max - do you want me? send a fax: www.truceklan.dot.com death rap
all of Rome knows it, check it out, and I know he wants this because I live here, this is my city
deep night to break through by trade
far from neighborhood panthers, I spend black evenings
black Nike, black jeans, black hoodie
me and my crew, you and your mess
the story is narcos - chicory on the scale
and a butterfly knife in your belly
'fuck the finance
the police, the caramba
the anti-drug in the room for the dance, I have the anxiety of those close to me
from the tenth Tuscolano district to Casilino to City Garden:
I don't live it well as I rhyme
and the sirens are always around, taking away the breath
I have one eye open in my sleep
I don't sleep at night
the screen streams until morning
dark glasses at night
Jon Belushi
B-movie like Peter Tushi
a blindfolded horse galloping
with a chisel stuck in an eye
in the crowd you have the proof that you return on a stretcher and a nine scares inside your brains!
chorus. small blade, I peel the streets, I walk with a big hood, big score via viale and piazza narcos noyz chicory ztk
CHICORIA: in the car with Pietro, Bench and Pooccio
passing through Portuense towards 'r Trullo
while Pietro pops the Ceres in the back seat, Bench is hitting the airbag
stay calm or you know that with a spike or needle
stupid rookies in the crime scene
a poor prick robbing a bank
you know how many times he's gotten away with it
it starts with bullying
for my needs, assault on the pharmacy convinced it'll go smooth
with a small blade I convince the girl too
'give me that loot, that's mine'
raise that drawer, the big pieces you've hidden down there
for the balaclava, I prefer scarf, little hat, and bandana
all that sweat that drenches you
like the fuss of a bitch
pop it open with determination
run away
there's no witness who saw in which direction you disappeared
scooter stashed in a bush
pissed and now how much cash has been made?
Villa Borghese and Valle Giulia
finesse, there's no way here
fuse burning in the mouth
I'm going under a couple of fags
'take that!' bastards!
rusty scissors
drop wallets, chains, bracelets, and phones, they would call the police
as soon as I finish them, they wait for the passing of a taxi
the only ones to stop
poor guys
I look at Rome, there's no peace
between lights and closed shop shutters smashed by tag and throw-up
common customs to the city gangs
I decided on my spot
I stick the pieces with duct tape in the usual letterbox of the typical gate in Trastevere
two pigeons with a broad bean
no more coming and going home
and I've always got the pieces in my pocket
just one phone call!
