(feat. Vincenzo)
Il Guercio:
It's not love that makes the world go round
But the cash fund, stained deep red
Rivers of tears and blood in seas of liquid money
I formulate uncomfortable thoughts
The scenario is black China, a murderous society
If I buy some petrol I finance heroin
The director supplements with bombs and weapons
The monsignor launders dirty savings
Missiles search for oil manipulated information
Fictitious personalized justice
For the infamous people who fatten their pockets
Time is money the world goes as fast as NASCAR
I read fallacious opinions I see neo-fasci in groups
I am the breast cancer of their thinking I burn flags
How can everything be allowed?
God does not exist and my planet is the toilet of the universe.
Rit (x2):
Blood, infamy, dirty watermark
The world goes round in circles thanks to the sons of bitches
For the cash you go out like Frusciante
And it grows the rot on the atlas.
Vincenzo Aken from via Anfossi
I close my eyes and turn off the world
I can barely lay down facts like exposed contracts
Because I read that man is victim of vices
Got from paying duties to assigning prices
Dog sniffs filigree
Vincenzo from via Anfossi
I live a forced choice between "poorman" and "man of honour"
I move money in search of pure power
Behind the dull sound of a dog
Between lives full of euro-lire and heroin in veins
The choice is life
And life is written in the eyes of those who live it
Coca and cash in a handshake
In Milan the night is a silent film
A struggle of glances that weaves the fabric
Video shooting of a glassy eye
Hatred suffocated in the grip of a fist
While accusations rain from obtuse minds spits out sentences
Mass media lives with disdain
For the silence of the guilty this swan death.
Jake the Fury:
They told me that the cash is extraordinary
If the fee is up for grabs
Christians often go to the ossuary
The ordeal for possession makes a brother different
It goes like a crucifix if put upside down
People want to dream, money is their peyote
The world is the chariot, the wheels they are the banknotes
But without money the streets remain empty
Every man has his own song but the money is their verses
Jumps in the dark like bunjee, go up and cry
The watermark in hand burns the phalanges,
And you, Mr. Nobody, supplement with smoke
You count the money alone, but you spend days on an empty stomach
You watch the world change like the Matrix
You notice who is underneath with pencil
But in the meantime you fill his lungs for free
You know that money betrays its lovers
And you die hanging under the rope of your cash.

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