"Don Pippo" testo
TonyPitony & Jerry Canaglia Lyrics
E pensa che se chiama uno dei fratelli per venire alla casa, quelli vengono Lù
Luca la gente de qua quando si odia, si odia per sempre
My name is Don Pippo, I got a story to tell
From Sicily to America, you know that shit well
Back to 1987 I tried hard, but I fell [?]
Took my backpack full of guns
Pasta, pasta twice, mozzarella and no support
Here to do what the fuck I want
So I took a cruise with my bitch, we fuck in New York
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't give a fuck, didn't say hi to my mom, my dog, my bitch, your house, my life
Still I want you, my bitch, ch'amm''a fà? (Ch'amm''a fà?)
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't speak your language, but I have a fucking gun
Boom-boom, you don't wanna give me sandwich?
I kill your wife, motherfucker, boom-boom, I kill your wife
Capisci?
From Sicily to America, ready to rule the world
Selling cigarettes for the children of New York
My bro is Al Capone, your bro is Al Coglione, ah
If you make my pasta scotta, I'll blow up your car
If your wife don't pay pizzo, so she dances (Ran-ta-tan-tan)
Pineapple on the pizza, I'll go fucking mad (Ran-tan)
And don't tell me how to act or I'll kill your dog man (Ran-ta-tan-tan)
Luca Changretta, sì, picchiamo Doretta
He's now in Birmingham, he loves me then him
He likes the dick so much, he sees Grindr, wait
Pitctures match with the fucko-fucky, Peaky Blinder
Detroit to imitate the mafia with terrible result
Like William Defoe, now suckin' my toe, un poco ricchio', yo
Don't call me, "Guagliò", yo, just call me "The boss", yeah
They dig you a foss, yeah
Living the life of itself
Gun in my pocket
[?]
Prepare mazzette in the car
Hiding the corpse in the farm
What has been done, has been done
I was twenty-thousand miles from America, get to America
I wanna marry you, I wanna love you
Vado su Portici
It's mathematical il nostro practical
I was twenty-thousand miles from America, but not anymore
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't give a fuck, didn't say hi to my mom, my dog, my bitch, your house, my life
Still I want you, my bitch, ch'amm''a fà?
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't speak your language, but I have a fucking gun
Boom-boom, you don't wanna give me sandwich?
I kill your wife, motherfucker
Luca la gente de qua quando si odia, si odia per sempre
My name is Don Pippo, I got a story to tell
From Sicily to America, you know that shit well
Back to 1987 I tried hard, but I fell [?]
Took my backpack full of guns
Pasta, pasta twice, mozzarella and no support
Here to do what the fuck I want
So I took a cruise with my bitch, we fuck in New York
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't give a fuck, didn't say hi to my mom, my dog, my bitch, your house, my life
Still I want you, my bitch, ch'amm''a fà? (Ch'amm''a fà?)
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't speak your language, but I have a fucking gun
Boom-boom, you don't wanna give me sandwich?
I kill your wife, motherfucker, boom-boom, I kill your wife
Capisci?
From Sicily to America, ready to rule the world
Selling cigarettes for the children of New York
My bro is Al Capone, your bro is Al Coglione, ah
If you make my pasta scotta, I'll blow up your car
If your wife don't pay pizzo, so she dances (Ran-ta-tan-tan)
Pineapple on the pizza, I'll go fucking mad (Ran-tan)
And don't tell me how to act or I'll kill your dog man (Ran-ta-tan-tan)
Luca Changretta, sì, picchiamo Doretta
He's now in Birmingham, he loves me then him
He likes the dick so much, he sees Grindr, wait
Pitctures match with the fucko-fucky, Peaky Blinder
Detroit to imitate the mafia with terrible result
Like William Defoe, now suckin' my toe, un poco ricchio', yo
Don't call me, "Guagliò", yo, just call me "The boss", yeah
They dig you a foss, yeah
Living the life of itself
Gun in my pocket
[?]
Prepare mazzette in the car
Hiding the corpse in the farm
What has been done, has been done
I was twenty-thousand miles from America, get to America
I wanna marry you, I wanna love you
Vado su Portici
It's mathematical il nostro practical
I was twenty-thousand miles from America, but not anymore
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't give a fuck, didn't say hi to my mom, my dog, my bitch, your house, my life
Still I want you, my bitch, ch'amm''a fà?
I was twenty-thousand miles from America
I didn't speak your language, but I have a fucking gun
Boom-boom, you don't wanna give me sandwich?
I kill your wife, motherfucker
