Learn Italian with Rap Music with these 20 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Fasten your seatbelt and switch off your phone! In “Dove E Quando” (Italian for “Where and When”) Benji & Fede invite us on a night-drive fueled by headlights, moonlight, and pure anticipation. The singer speeds across mountains, coasts, and city traffic, all to erase the distance between him and the one he loves. Every line drips with summertime energy—quarrels paid off “in instalments,” last-minute lane changes, and a promise to arrive before the final thunderbolt falls—creating a vivid postcard of spontaneous romance.

At its heart, the song is a playful pledge to show up, this time for real. No more lame excuses, no more delays; just drop your location and he’ll be there. It’s a celebration of commitment wrapped in upbeat pop, reminding us that when love gives you a destination, the journey (no matter how chaotic) suddenly feels like the best part of the adventure.

LEVANTE feels like speeding down a highway with the windows open, lavender smoke swirling in the air and a Maserati purring under you. Simba La Rue, joined by Paky, fires off a rapid-fire mix of French and Italian street slang, bragging about luxury cars, designer jackets and a curriculum vitae stacked with crimes. Each punchline is a snapshot of the fast life: armed robberies, narrow escapes through underground tunnels and a playlist of sirens in the background.

Beneath the flashy boasts sits a current of restless anxiety. The chorus repeats an image of the artist constantly on edge, knowing that every wild move leaves new “danni” to worry about. Between threats and swagger he slips in a personal vow to buy his hard-working mother a penthouse, hinting at the hunger that fuels the chaos. In short, the song is a gritty postcard from Italy’s underbelly where ambition and danger race side by side, and the only rule is faccio il cazzo che voglio—I do whatever I want.

“Soldi a Casa” is a gritty street diary turned into music. Over a bouncing drill beat, Simba La Rue, Ghali and FT Kings trade verses about the endless hustle that defines their reality: slipping in and out of jail cells, dodging drones and police, and doing whatever it takes to bring the money back home. Every line drips with heat — forty-degree prison cells, envy-induced headaches, and the pressure of knowing that failure means returning empty-handed to worried families.

Yet beneath the tough talk there’s a pulse of vulnerability. The MCs reveal how racism, gossip and constant danger shadow their every move, while dreams of seaside summers and movie-star romances feel distant. “Soldi a Casa” is both a victory lap and a warning siren: a reminder that for many young immigrants on Europe’s streets, survival isn’t about fame or luxury, but about showing up at the front door with pockets full and loved ones proud.

Niente Da Perdere is Shiva’s declaration that having nothing to lose can be the greatest super-power of all. The Indian rapper rewinds to the days when his heart felt like winter, friends were few, and the streets were his stage. Then a girl he never expected crashes the scene and suddenly gives every risk real weight. With her, he moves from sidewalks to spotlights, but the higher he rises, the more he worries about falling.

The lyrics bounce between gritty memories and glittering success, sketching out a tug-of-war: cold nights versus champagne toasts, good side versus bad side, loyalty versus mistrust. Shiva values loyalty over applause and admits he is still learning at just twenty years old. In the end, the song salutes the person who stands by you when you own nothing but dreams, showing that the real jackpot is someone who sees the right side of your wrong turns.

Shiva turns late–night thoughts into a catchy soundtrack of infatuation in “Pensando A Lei.” Borrowing the irresistible hook “Shawty’s like a melody in my head” and blending it with Italian verses, he paints the picture of a young rapper who has gone from having nothing to wanting to give his dream girl everything. Her presence loops in his mind like an iPod stuck on replay, making even city skylines feel brighter. He’s honest about his flaws – the obsession with money, the DMs he could fill – yet he can’t shake the feeling that this girl is different. She’s a Nike-wearing model in his eyes, someone who makes him ditch distractions and redefine what truly matters.

At its core, the song is an energetic confession of love that feels both modern and timeless. Shiva admits his fears of commitment and the whispers that they’re “too young” to get serious, but he decides to live in the moment, breaking rules for a romance that’s as thrilling as it is uncertain. The repetitive hook mirrors the way she replays in his head, turning the track into an anthem for anyone who’s ever been stuck on a crush that’s impossible to forget.

Brutte Cose (which translates to Ugly Things) is a gritty street journal set to a menacing trap beat. French rapper Simba La Rue, backed by Bobo and MINUR, blurts out gun-shot ad-libs and rapid-fire slang that yank you straight into his neighborhood. Designer fashion, roaring engines, and coded phone calls collide with flashing Glock barrels and latex gloves, mixing luxury with danger in every bar.

Beneath the swagger, the track is a survival manifesto. Simba details stuffing grams in his sock, racing away from police vans, and sealing drug packs with tape while sentinels keep watch. Trust is scarce, betrayal sits on the same plate as “troie e infami,” and money is vacuum-sealed because nothing else feels safe. The chorus admits they do “brutte cose” to get ahead, framing the song as both a confession and a warning about the harsh arithmetic of life on the block.

Shiva’s “Soldi Puliti” is a flashy, high-octane snapshot of a hustler who barges into VIP parties uninvited, flaunts designer labels, and turns shady earnings into seemingly clean money. The lyrics swing between swagger and suspense: luxury cars roar, nine-millimeter danger lurks, and the rapper’s heart feels like cold metal behind a shop shutter. Each bar mixes vivid bragging (Hermès suits, untouched €6,000 jackets) with the constant buzz of street survival, as if riches and risk ride in the same Brabus.

Beneath the glitter, Shiva wrestles with loyalty, faith, and the heavy price of his environment. He calls out fake colleagues, vows never to betray his crew, and admits that prayer raises church costs more than it fixes problems. Critics make memes while he makes millions, but even success is a shield he keeps polishing to fend off the “devil” chasing him. In short, “Soldi Puliti” is both a celebration of rapid wealth and a cautionary anthem about the shadows that cling to every euro earned.

Respira ("Breathe") is Vladana’s urgent pep-talk to anyone who feels they are suffocating under grief. She paints stark images of pain rising to a “foamy sky,” breath fading, and fear that refuses to loosen its grip. Still, the message is clear: surrendering to despair is imperdonabile, an unforgivable act. Tears must be felt, life must be held tight, because she believes you will be reborn and stand beside her once more.

The music itself mirrors the act of breathing: tense, whispered verses contract like held lungs, then the chorus bursts open with fresh air and determination. Each repetition of Respira becomes a mantra that warms the heart, turning darkness into resolve. By the final note you are left lighter, braver, and ready to face the world with a brand-new supply of hope.

Need a pick-me-up anthem about true friendship? “Hai Un Amico In Me” by American singer Benji and Italian rapper Fede bursts in like a high-five set to music. Over a lively, feel-good groove, the duo remind you that whenever the road gets bumpy and “ci sono duemila pericoli” (there are two thousand dangers), you can relax knowing a great friend is right beside you.

More than a simple promise, the song is a heartfelt pledge of loyalty. Benji and Fede trade lines that say, Your problems are my problems, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Even if someone “worth more” shows up, the singers insist no one will love you the way they do. With time, this friendship evolves into brotherhood, something destiny itself has approved. The chorus repeats like an open-armed hug: Hai un amico in me… più di un amico in me—you have a friend in me… more than a friend in me—turning the track into an irresistible reminder that real friends don’t just stick around, they lift you up every step of the way!

CUORE invites you to a dance party where the strobe lights are memories and the beat is a stubborn heart that refuses to quit. Over a pulsing pop-rock backdrop, gIANMARIA paints the picture of a lanky, off-beat lover who keeps stepping on his partner’s toes — literally and emotionally — yet cannot stop asking her to stay. Every verse flips between witty self-mockery and raw confession: he lowers the TV just to hear the neighbors, books a dream trip for two even though he is traveling alone, and imagines his ex dancing right on top of the heart she just ripped out.

The song’s core message is a playful paradox. Heartbreak hurts, but it also makes us move. gIANMARIA shows that even when days end in darkness, when radios and parties feel pointless, the heart keeps searching for rhythm and connection. By daring his ex to “take the heart and dance on it,” he turns vulnerability into a challenge: go ahead, break me again — my heart will still find its way back. It is a catchy reminder that love’s bruises rarely stop us from lacing up for one more song.

Calipso throws us straight into a neon-lit maze of Italian backstreets, where kids, dreamers, and small-time outlaws run past swirling police sirens and street-corner temptations. Sfera Ebbasta, Fabri Fibra, and Mahmood paint a restless picture of fame and city life: money stacks up, friends fall away, smiles look fake, and everyone waits for a miracle that never comes. The title nods to Calypso, the mythical enchantress, hinting at the seductive pull of quick success and easy escape.

Beneath the racing beat the song delivers a simple but urgent reminder – in the chase for cash and applause it is all too easy to misplace your own heart. The chorus urges the listener to stop, breathe, and remember where your heart is. You can run from the rain, from the police, even from your hometown, yet you can never outrun yourself. “Calipso” is both a street anthem and a modern fable, encouraging anyone sprinting through life’s narrow alleys to hold on tight to authenticity before the music fades and the briefcase snaps shut on what matters most.

"Cringe" by Spanish artist Beba, featuring Samurai Jay, is a sharp and catchy clap-back at the social-media circus. Over a club-ready beat, Beba rolls her eyes at influencers who chase likes, filters, and paid vacations instead of real self-esteem. She mocks the endless “marketing weekend,” the overnight DJs with manufactured glamour, and the idea that follower counts can replace genuine talent. Her invitation to “see me without filters” flips the script, celebrating authenticity while labeling the faux-luxury lifestyle as nothing more than cringe.

Samurai Jay jumps in to echo the sentiment. He reminds listeners that he built his name through hard work, not algorithm tricks, and warns anyone who reduces relationships to Insta-follows. Together the two artists deliver a playful yet pointed anthem that asks: Are you living for yourself or for the feed? If it is the latter, they will call you out—because pretending is, quite simply, cringe.

Picture a warm Italian evening where the sky is velvet blue and every street lamp feels like a spotlight. That is the stage for “Parlami D’Amore, Mariù,” a classic Italian serenade overflowing with admiration and tenderness. The singer can hardly contain his delight as he praises Mariù’s beauty: her smile glitters like a star, her blue eyes shine brighter than the night sky, and her very presence makes him forget any worries about tomorrow. He begs her to speak to him of love, longing for the sweet reassurance that the magic between them is real.

Yet beneath the dreamy charm lies an audacious devotion. The narrator admits Mariù can be a “mischievous siren,” someone who might lure and bewitch, but he gladly accepts the risk. Even if the world laughs or fate turns against him, he would rather plunge into love’s deepest whirlpool than live without her. Each repetition of the chorus is a heartfelt promise: “You are my whole life.” As long as he rests close to her heart, pain disappears and only the dazzling glow of love remains.

Con Un Deca is a playful yet bittersweet trip down memory lane. Club Dogo and Max Pezzali recall those teenage nights when having un deca (a 10 000-lire bill) felt like a passport to endless fun—pizza slices, cigarettes, a spin through town at 3 a.m. The lyrics paint Milan as a city of two nightclubs and 106 pharmacies, full of quirks, paranoia and dreams. Fast-forward to adulthood and that same deca can’t even cover a snack, let alone an escape. The song turns inflation into a running joke while highlighting how growing up often shrinks our sense of possibility.

Behind the humor lies a gentle dose of realism: money is tight, fame is unlikely, and the city can feel claustrophobic. Yet the chorus keeps insisting “Con un deca non si può andar via” as a rallying cry, reminding listeners that imagination and friendship still get you further than cash alone. It’s a nostalgic anthem for anyone who has ever cruised around with friends, pockets nearly empty but heads full of big ideas.

Boing is Club Dogo’s loud declaration of independence. Throughout the track the rapper pictures himself as a rubber ball, forever bouncing back – or, in Italian slang, rimbalzare – from anyone who tries to label, correct or tame him. With punch-line after punch-line he brags about crashing fancy parties in a tracksuit, ignoring record-label demands and brushing off critics, haters and even gossip magazines. Every refusal lands with a comic book boing, turning negativity into kinetic energy that keeps the beat – and his ego – springing upward.

Beneath the swagger the song hides a simple message: stay authentic, laugh at pressure and keep moving. When Club Dogo shrugs “grazie ma, no grazie,” he is teaching a mini-lesson in self-confidence: listen, smile, then bounce away to do things your own way. The repeated image of heads nodding “until the neck snaps” mirrors the relentless rhythm of resistance, making the track both a club anthem and a rebellious pep-talk in perfect street-Italian slang.

“Ragazzi Fuori” is a high-energy street anthem where Club Dogo and Karkadan celebrate life on the edge. The title translates to “Kids on the Outside,” and that is exactly the vibe: a crew of friends who refuse to be boxed in by rules, cops, or critics. Over a pounding beat they brag about unstoppable flow (“non è in un mp3 è nella canna di un mp5”), joke about dodging movie-style drama, and light up references to weed, fast money, and late-night city corners. Every punchline is a badge of outsider pride, showing how the ragazzi stay alert, hustle hard, and always keep their style fresh.

Beneath the bravado lies a sharper message: the system tries to mute or fine them, but these rappers inhale trouble, exhale rhymes, and keep moving. The hook repeats the mantra “stiamo fuori sempre fuori” to remind listeners that freedom is found outside—outside boring jobs, outside mainstream TV, outside the pressures to fit in. The song is both a celebration of camaraderie and a declaration of independence: if you roll with the ragazzi fuori, you live by your own rules and let the whole world hear it.

Amore Infame plunges us into a city where the air is literally dirty and the atmosphere is toxic in every sense. Club Dogo raps with raw honesty about a love affair that feels like gasoline on an open flame: thrilling, addictive and inevitably destructive. The repeated line "l'aria è sporca e il mio cuore va in fiamme" sets the scene for a romance that burns bright but scorches everything around it. Amid references to high-heeled gifts, street paranoia and sleepless sunrises, the song shows two lovers pulled together by chemistry yet dragged apart by lies, violence and self-sabotage.

By the second verse the relationship looks more like a battleground than a fairy tale. Club Dogo balances moments of tenderness with harsh confessions, admitting that he has “changed” his partner and left permanent scars. Love here is personified as an infame ― a back-stabbing villain that tempts, devours and never apologizes. There is no neat closure, only the grim realization that passion without trust can turn any city smoggy and any heart into a blazing wreck.

“Meglio Che Morto” (Better Than Dead) is Club Dogo’s raw victory lap after years of fighting through the mud. In a barrage of gritty images – bloody noses, crooked smiles, empty pockets – the rapper retraces his path from self-destruction to self-worth. He raps about growing up at the very bottom, flirting with danger, and feeling cursed by a talent that almost ate him alive. Yet every punch he throws at life leaves a mark of resilience: the scars on his face, the tattoos on his skin, and the unshakable block mentality that still pumps through his veins. The chorus celebrates a hard-won truth: surviving all of this, even battered and breathless, is still “better than dead.”

Behind the tough talk is a surprisingly uplifting message. The song urges listeners to find pride in their scars, to own their stories, and to demand respect rather than mere approval. It’s a shout-out to anyone who has ever been counted out, reminding them that success can be seized “con i pugni” – with their fists, grit, and authenticity. In short, Club Dogo turns his personal struggle into an anthem of perseverance, converting pain into power and inviting us to cheer along while we work on our own comebacks.

Step into the heart-wrenching final scene of Puccini’s opera Madama Butterfly, brought vividly to life by Ermonela Jaho and the Royal Opera House forces. In this aria, Cio-Cio-San (Butterfly) realizes that her American husband, Pinkerton, has returned to Nagasaki with a new wife and wants to take away their child. Surrounded by her loyal maid Suzuki and the imposing Consul, Butterfly struggles between hope and despair, love and duty. The dialogue crackles with questions and half-answers, each one tightening the emotional knot until Butterfly understands that her world has collapsed.

With quiet resolve, she decides that “one who cannot live with honor must die with honor.” Before taking her life, she presses a tender farewell on her little son, urging him to remember her face and grow up free of guilt. The aria overflows with themes of honor, maternal sacrifice, and cultural collision, making it one of opera’s most devastating moments. Listening to Jaho’s soaring voice and the orchestra’s rippling tension, you will feel both the beauty of Butterfly’s devotion and the crushing weight of her choice.

“Un Bel Dì Vedremo” sweeps us into the fragile world of Cio-Cio-San, known as Butterfly, a young Japanese bride who refuses to believe her American husband has abandoned her. In this famous aria from Puccini’s opera Madama Butterfly, beautifully delivered here by Albanian soprano Ermonela Jaho with mezzo-soprano Elizabeth DeShong and the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House under Antonio Pappano, Butterfly paints a vivid daydream: she imagines seeing a tiny puff of smoke on the horizon, the sign of a ship bringing her beloved back. While her maid Suzuki doubts, Butterfly clings to an almost childlike faith, picturing every detail of his return, from the ship’s cannon greeting the harbor to the moment he calls her name across the hill.

At its heart, the song is a bittersweet portrait of hope battling reality. Butterfly’s unwavering optimism shines as she promises that “all this will happen” despite poverty, gossip, and the long wait. The aria captures universal feelings—love, longing, and the courage to dream—making it one of opera’s most moving moments. Let the soaring vocals and lush orchestra carry you into Butterfly’s vision, where a single plume of smoke can hold a lifetime of promise.