Jodellavitanonhocapitouncazzo - Caparezza

〈intro〉
〈jodel〉

〈verse 1〉
I don't make show, i give show as
My drunk grandpa on the day of my communion
I'm so crazy
That i have relatives who are not happy to bearing my
Surname
Allow me the presumption of feeling like manure
Sometimes solid, sometimes sludge
Eager for fame? i'm starving
A seat at the table? i've got a bowl like a dog
I bark for a couple of plates that i beg
I could act angry but i forget
An authentic doctor near me, he says:
"don't you realize you're becoming schizophrenic?"
Shut up, doctor, you cost me dearly, i'm worth nothing
And don't call me artist, but a 〈.?.〉
Did yo understand? 〈.?.〉
I'm happy in the poop, should crying, but instead

〈chorus〉
〈jodel〉

〈verse 2〉
I'm sick, but not a victimist
Mirco with every single detail: licia, kiss me
I point to the oscar, but that one guy of aphorisms
I had to take a shower, but they give me a freesbee
And i smell like crap, drink freely
Escaped to the fate like like a stowaway on a hull
Eyes wide as an owl
Building block by block a future that sees me as a ufo
Sure i get tired, i swear on every tuft
I should play the trumpet for how many time i sigh
If i dive into one of my ideas
I end up breathless in a tide of diarrhea
I thinks this is funny
I am alive, but not because i breathe
I feel alive only when i grab the stylus and write
When i was born i didn't understand
And now that i keep on not understanding all i have left is-
〈chorus〉
〈jodel〉

〈verse 3〉
I laugh, but i cry with relish
If i see the pumped-up, tanned pretty boy just right
Me, with mud from woodstock stuck in my locks, i stink
I accumulate sweat for hours that i spray
I love women who smell like cod
More than showgirls with sequins and ostrich feathers
I roll in a handful of joy
Even if i don't spend the summer on the beach
I'm the reigning champion of chaos
But i have a skullcap that burns like lava rock
And in the game of who cheats in music
I'm in with a two of spades up my sleeve
The only certainty is that i end up badly
Caparezza dies, everyone to the funeral
It's paradoxical but i won't go, i don't care
Mom, how many records will they sell if i die
(doctor, in the operating room)