Vecchi senza esperienza - The Zen Circus

Un mio amico scrittore che la penna non l’ha vista

Come fosse un nome, dico, che la penna non l’ha vista

Aveva la barba un po' lunga e molto riccia

E giurava tutto il giorno che smetteva di fumare

Poi smise davvero e ci fece un po' star male

E noi che alla fine si voleva un po' godere

Ma di cosa godi con questi morti di fame?

Aperitivo è bere, ribere e vomitare

Sembra che oramai vada di moda quello che

Prendevo solo schiaffi a farlo nel novantatré

I pantaloni stretti erano da froci e non da fighi

Le Converse da pezzenti, i computer da perdenti

Testi pesanti, testi che si fa all’amore

Contro la provincia, contro il suo rancore

Di chi l’ha preso in culo e non lo vuole raccontare

Gli basta di ridarlo per potersi vendicare

Banda di codardi, i codardi, che scoperta

Magari vinco il Nobel, magari una coperta

Che a casa tua fa freddo, ma le paghi le bollette?

D’accordo tu sei calda là sotto, ci mancherebbe

Domani si va tutti a stare in centro a San Marino

E io ci vengo in treno, altri pare in motorino

Fondiamo la repubblica dei giovani italiani

Vecchi senza esperienza, altolocati, dei villani

A writer friend of mine who hasn't seen the pen

As if it were a name, I say, that the pen has not seen it

She had a slightly long and very curly beard

And she swore all day that she quit smoking

Then she really stopped and made us sick a little

And we who in the end wanted to enjoy ourselves a little

But what do you enjoy with these starving?

Aperitif is drinking, drinking and throwing up

It seems that by now what is in fashion

I was only getting slapped to do it in ninety-three

The tight pants were for fags and not cool

Converse for beggars, computers for losers

Heavy texts, texts made for love

Against the province, against its rancor

About those who have taken it in the ass and do not want to tell

It is enough for him to give it back to be able to take revenge

Band of cowards, the cowards, what a discovery

Maybe I win the Nobel, maybe a blanket

That it's cold in your house, but do you pay the bills?

Okay you're hot down there, God forbid

Tomorrow everyone is going to stay in the center of San Marino

And I come by train, others seem to be on a moped

We found the republic of young Italians

Old inexperienced, high-ranking, villains