Plata or Plomo, it's up to you. Carro, money, who's good? Go and confess, work, carro. Plakat, coco, Kalash, Mao. I put a 38 in my ass, high rapper Zanza. If the Moroccan armies came in, now it's the Maranzas. They were doing sanga sanga, face to face, Baghdad. Ask the Getafi too, among our race. I fuck all the rappers in Milan. This scene is of the Middle Ages, we don't know them. Train and make weights, then we'll book you. They call me on Cipollesi, from Bari, Milan. I shoot with two Senegalese, two Albanians, two Neapolitans. Two Arabs, two Chinese and two South Americans. They tell me that I'm crazy, brother, that I'm crazy. Tranquilo. Like Gaviria, Gustavo, Tony, Sosa, Balotelli. Hola, come with Pablo, Fendi, Mafia, Bona, Fendi. Today, the little Ken, gray like chicken. Tomorrow, if I have to go, I'll do the capo, baby gang. Moral, we go on a weekend, a jet for Tenerife. I have a pelagium like Tenerife. Me and my brother, we sell taga. London, Madrid, Milan, Braga. You know the noise of the gala. Here, sick, you don't even give a shit. My cousin here, it's Tahia. Algeria, Vero, Mafia. Eleve, then the beach. Cuba, Salva, Torre, Rina. I'm like Gaviria, Gustavo, Garo. Money, Kishtar, Bravo. After confession, I work like a roll of paper. Cocoa, Kalash, Mao. I'm like Gaviria, Gustavo, Garo. Money, Kishtar, Bravo. After confession, I work like a roll of paper. Cocoa, Kalash, Mao.