Int 'o Rione - Co'Sang

{Intro: Ntò}
In the ward
{neighborhood}, in the ward

{Chorus: Ntò & Luchè}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to mе?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the rеvolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}

{Verse 1: Ntò}
Yeah . . . outside, cars are smoking from their hoods
First I work the microphone
Great things to those who try
The sluts to those who find them
Luchè produces
And in these bars, the poor and the infamous days that make you move
If one is from the ward, he is dressed well
The wife spends and fucks the guy who sells
In the ward, you don’t know who is true
I offer you a haircut, then I rob you
He trembles as he clutches the iron
{gun}, he has the shadow in his head
Brothers against brothers
You put your hand on your forehead
But you have to raise another
Like the head of he who brings the news
{??}
This lame world doesn’t get the best of us

{Verse 2: Luchè}
Throw the water because the air is full of rage
The brothers are in chains
And life passes before your eyes as you flee, bro
And I’m just here mixing coffee and milk, cappuccino
Women laugh and my head does not walk
{??}
I grew up with those who do wheelies and shift gears with their hands
Always designer clothes, no need for fathers
And now (and now)
You see us in cars with wheels bigger than our heads
And they pretend not to look at us
But I’m not the classic kid from Napoli
Who after hearing D’Alessio sheds tears from his eyes
I disgust them all and all the coke they pull
{snort} . .
. . . at weddings I was there when art was killed
I represent the real life
That one with his hands on the railings
Where pleasure is measured in stripes
Admiration for those who are rich without risk
The street as inspiration for making records

{Chorus: Ntò & Luchè}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}

{Verse 3: Luchè}
Here we match the belt with the 921
{a Beretta}
The cell phones are ringing
40-year old faces drop at the cost
And you can see it under the eyes, stuff digs

{Hollow eyes = bags under the eyes; describing faces that exhibit the cost of the hard life}
The road has given another test
And it doesn’t seem strange to us
And hand in hand with our children
They become men before they grow up
And you know this goes to Cerozzo
{Ciro?}
Now I’m here with phone in hand
Waiting for the blood to evaporate
Watching the stories come in
And all my brothers
First they hang (?...) and then die and burn
And meanwhile, our rhymes play
And they send 1500 more policemen at us (Shit)
And they don’t even stop one of us
Because hunger screams
Shirtless, I know that peace is a utopia
That’s why I bring rage to the street
That’s why the tarantella eat my face
And I’m not tired
And the more they give me the more I take

{Verse 4: Ntó & Luchè}
Envy gnaws and medicine is music
What do you say?
I grow muscles and veins and load
{get jacked?} without tobacco
Without a hug I make her wet
Children become men with full pockets
Those here know what it is
Anyone who wants to be from here shows us how fucked up he is
Copy the accent of public housing
With other consonants and other vowels
You feel bad after 8 bottles
Our German people want the best
Little plastic bags filled with money
Good guys

{They fuck the false heads of State but without fireworks??}
Everything is OK, today life is costly
They see you elegant
They hate you
{literally: they hold you in their throat}
They are ridiculous, I don’t say their names
I communicate, I don’t judge
Love is the only thing that still smells
And gets lost in the ward, bro

{Chorus: Ntò & Luchè}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}
You can find us in the ward
I’m not feeling well, mamma
What’s happening to me?
My brothers still smoke
And in our bars, the revolution
This is the new sound
You know it’s malammore
{bad love}