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- The Pact

 

Wanted to find a job so I could send
Money to my people over the sea but I
Was in a fog yankes just laugh at me yes
Irish pigs make fun of me you can't stay
Alone or you will go crasy. Leave this
Town of houston for my little italy

My head so full of dreams my pocket so
Empty my head so sick of drems my
Pocket still empty my head so full of
Dreams my pocket so empty

Mafia received my rage with thousand
Open arms santa maria wiped my bloody
Tears I had to turn the page but son let me
Your ears yankees had find the king of
Their fears my head so full of dreams my
Pocket so empty my head so sick of

Dreams my pocket still empty
My head so sick of dreams my pocket
Still empty you work for free and then
Fuck off, macaroni!

Yankee yankee
Saying go back to italy
In this image of liberty
There's something more yankee
That you will never see

Respectability
Respectability

I can't go back
I turned my back
To mother italy

I can't go back
I had to track
A new reality

I can't go back
I made a pact
With the mafia

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