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Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Red sauce simmer on the stove, that’s business
Saint Anthony on the dash while I handle sinness
Two phones ringin’, priest and the prosecutor
One bless bread, one wanna call me shooter
I grew up where the backroom runs the borough
Grandma’s rosary hangin’ next to the borrowed fur coat
Talk soft, move loud, that was always the plan
Kiss both cheeks, slip the envelope in his hand
[Chorus]
This ain’t TV, but they quote the Sopranos
Talk like Tony till they see the pianos
Fingers on the keys, judge bangin’ the gavel
We write our ep’s in the dust and gravel
Cross my fam, you’ll be fish food pronto
Sunday suit, but the soul stay guappo
They binge seasons, I made my own channel
Real life, past the credits and the candles
[Verse 2]
We ate dinner while the rerun played in the corner
Uncle sayin’, “That’s us,” laugh, but it’s a warnin’
Gabagool plate, but the weight was the problem
Federal agents outside actin’ like they’ll solve ‘em
I saw Paulie on the screen, saw my cousin in his eyes
Men of respect still allergic to the lies
Therapy scenes while I’m countin’ out bands
Doc take notes, feds takin’ those same plans
[Chorus]
[Bridge]
You see a meme, I see a case file
You see a quote, I see a closed aisle
You hear a theme song, I hear old trials
Choir in my head singin’ “live or exile”
[Chorus]
Details
GeneratedJan 8, 2026
Duration2:22
LanguageEnglish
Style
rap, Dusty East Coast boom-bap with Italian soundtrack flourishes—mandolin chops, upright bass, brushed snares. Male vocals, close and gritty, verses ride a mid-tempo pocket; hook widens with stacked gang vocals and a heavier kick. Occasional orchestral stabs and vinyl crackle for vintage mob flick energy, with a short breakdown for ad-libs before the final chorus.
Credits
Prompt byLil_Dumbass
ModelAria v5
Prompt
A rap song from the perspective of an Italian mobster with lines mentioning the Sopranos
