Learn Italian with Rap/Hip Hop Music with these 17 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Habibi is Ghali’s laid-back love letter to a partner who turns everyday chaos into a slow-motion adventure. From smoking top-shelf weed in different European cities to sipping red wine while binge-watching space documentaries, the couple build a private universe filled with good food, sweet aromas and inside jokes. Ghali likens their time together to “going to paradise without dying,” a rose with no thorns, showing how this relationship softens the rough edges of city life.

Yet the song is not just dreamy escapism. Between the playful Arabic hook “Habibi, habibi” (meaning my love) and cheeky lines about using her as an excuse with his mom, Ghali slips in real-world tension: fake friends, nosy gossip, the feeling that people ignore you when you’re thirsty but crowd you when you finally drink. He confesses youthful ambitions of being a pilot, only to realize he doesn’t want to fly solo; she is his refuge when doors close. Blending Italian street slang, Arabic endearment and pop melodies, “Habibi” celebrates multicultural love as the ultimate high—one that helps you smoke the mess away, drink the problems down and still stay on your feet when the music stops.

A Un Passo Dalla Luna is a sun-kissed postcard from the Italian coast, where Rocco Hunt and Ana Mena invite us to escape reality for one magical night. The lyrics paint a cinematic scene: a shooting star streaks across the sky, two strangers glide out of a club, and shyness melts away as they reach the shoreline. They pretend they are just one step from the moon, believing anything is possible while the sea looks on like a mischievous accomplice. Compliments (“Sei bella da paura!”) fly, a dress slips playfully down, and time seems to pause for their private summer universe.

Beneath the catchy reggaeton-pop beat lies a simple, infectious message: grab the moment, follow your heart, and ignore the crowd. The lovers talk about sharing pastries at dawn, hopping in a car with no fixed destination, and laughing at people who think they are crazy. It is the soundtrack of a holiday romance where spontaneity reigns, dreams come true, and the night feels endless because, when you are with the right person, you really are only a step away from the moon.

“Salvami” feels like a midnight confession booth set to a trap-pop beat. Canadian artist GionnyScandal pours out a whirlwind of raw feelings: regret over drunk words, panic attacks that hit every thirty minutes, and a desperate plea for someone to “save me from myself.” He flips between craving tender love and diving into reckless passion, showing how love can be both a lifeline and a trigger.

Behind the blunt language and club-ready chorus lies a deeper struggle with loneliness and anxiety. The singer admits he’s at his worst on a cold Friday night, stuck between wanting to push his partner away and begging them to stay. “Salvami” is ultimately a snapshot of modern vulnerability – a reminder that sometimes the hardest person to escape is the one staring back in the mirror.

“Ti Amo Ti Odio” invites us onto an emotional roller-coaster where love and resentment keep changing places at break-neck speed. Over pulsing beats, GionnyScandal stares at a photo of his ex, convinced that without her his life has lost its meaning. He hovers over the “send” button, only to freeze when he sees her smiling on social media. That single image sparks a tidal wave of conflicting feelings: he clings to unwashed sheets that still carry her perfume, smokes the stub of her cigarette just to “touch” her lips, and even contemplates shouting declarations of love beneath her window. Yet jealousy flares the moment he imagines someone else beside her, turning tender memories into raw fury.

Beneath the dramatic gestures lies a confession of vulnerability. The singer openly admits he still lies to friends about having moved on and even credits his ex for shaping the person he’s become. Ultimately, the chorus repeats like a desperate mantra—“A volte ti amo e a volte ti odio” (“Sometimes I love you and sometimes I hate you”)—capturing the universal tug-of-war between holding on and letting go. By the final refrain, he concedes she will never return, but the song leaves us with a poignant truth: the thin line between love and hate is often drawn by the ones who change us most.

Notti (meaning Nights) is Sfera Ebbasta’s celebratory postcard from the top of the world he once only imagined. The song opens with the rain stopping, a simple image that captures his escape from grey, difficult days when he bounced between early-morning shifts, low-pay jobs, and one-way train tickets. Now those rainy memories are replaced by glittering nights where his “stella brilla in cielo” (star shines in the sky), a reminder of how far he has flown—literally soaring over the Eiffel Tower yet still keeping his “piedi per terra” (feet on the ground).

At its heart, the track is an anthem of perseverance and gratitude. Sfera retraces the grind of hustling for clean and dirty money alike, eating plain pasta at home, and dreaming of luxury hotels he had never even seen. Success brings flashy clothes, concerts, and endless Saturday-night vibes, but he makes it clear he’s not chasing trends; he is fighting to ensure he never falls back into the darkness he came from. “Notti” shouts out the friends who were there before the fame, celebrates the glow-up, and invites listeners to toast to brighter nights where dreams finally outshine the rain.

What if happiness had a weight – only 21 grams? In this energetic anthem, Italian rapper Fedez imagines buying and burning through a tiny, almost​ illegal-sounding dose of joy just to escape the gray routine. He speaks for a generation that didn’t give its best at school, didn’t follow the “classic” path, and now finds itself as photocopies, all the same, covered in tattoos but short on cash. Surrounded by “vipers,” icy hearts, and monotone theme-park lives, the characters in the song feel both fragile and rebellious, craving something real in a world that keeps handing them watered-down certainties.

Despite the bitterness, the chorus is a burst of hope. Those precious 21 grams let them dream with eyes wide open, just like when they were kids and half of nothing felt like plenty. Fedez turns their scars into battle trophies, stitches them up with barbed wire, and invites listeners to hold tight, shed labels, and become “a little more free.” The song is a gritty love letter to anyone who feels stuck yet still believes a small, concentrated shot of happiness can make them soar above the limits, bruises, and boredom of everyday life.

“Cara Italia” is Ghali’s playful love letter to the country that raised him. Over an infectious beat, the half-Tunisian, half-Italian rapper zips between Italian, Spanish, and English to show how multilingual and multicultural modern Italy really is. He jokes about overprotective moms, videogames, and bad phone reception in the suburbs, yet slips in sharper lines about immigration, Trump, and newspapers that paint foreigners as aliens. The result feels like scrolling through a lively social-media feed: memes, politics, and personal confessions all racing past at once.

Amid the humor and rapid-fire pop-culture references, Ghali’s main message is clear: identity is a mix, and that mix is beautiful. He rejects outdated stereotypes, celebrates feeling “fortunato,” and reminds listeners that criticism can still come from a place of affection. By ending each chorus with “Io t.v.b, cara Italia” (“I love you, dear Italy”), he balances protest with gratitude, turning the song into both a critique of intolerance and a warm hug to the nation he calls home.

Bright morning light filters through the blinds and Izi suddenly feels that the world, for once, might be beautiful. "Chic" is a stream-of-consciousness journey where the Italian rapper contrasts fragile hope with gritty memories: sleeping in train stations, calling friends for a half-burned mattress, drowning his fears in the sea, and dreaming of polished dinners on streets turned into banquet tables. The song’s imagery flips constantly—dry leaves crunching underfoot, diabetes called a monster, paper mountains of unfinished lyrics—mirroring the way his mind spins between optimism and anxiety.

In the hook he jokes about wearing the elegant clothes of “chic” men only in his dreams, while in real life he sports worn-in jeans and carries his resilience like an invisible badge. No one hands him strength, so he forges it alone, taking just enough love from a partner who truly understands him. «Se qualcuno mi da la forza, fra’ mi rafforzo così» becomes a mantra of self-reliance: life is messy, but he will keep moving, keep writing, and keep finding beauty, even if it flickers for only a second.

Tutto Resta ("Everything Remains") is Rocco Hunt’s heartfelt flashback to a high-school hallway where he met the girl who changed his outlook on life. Forget the typical teenage crush: she is brainy, principled and immune to shallow compliments, so the rapper falls first for her words, not her looks. We follow him as he gathers the courage to strike up conversations about Tesla, hip-hop dreams and conspiracy books, finally sharing a rebellious smoke and an unforgettable first kiss.

The chorus repeats that "nothing can be forgotten, everything remains", turning this personal memory into a universal lesson. Time does not erase real feelings; it only reveals who we truly are. The song invites listeners to love sincerely, appreciate people while they are still here and remember that the moments that seem small today might echo forever in the heart tomorrow.

Strut onto the rap runway! In this high-energy anthem Baby K compares her unstoppable flow to fashion powerhouse Anna Wintour, the steely editor in chief of Vogue. With every bar she walks, talks, and rhyme-strikes like a champion, declaring herself a boss who changes styles at will, feeds her crew, and makes haters yawn. Turning up the hi-fi, she tells doubters bye bye while celebrating luxury, ambition, and razor-sharp self-belief.

Beyond the glossy surface, the track is a manifesto for modern divas. Baby K urges listeners to keep their polish fresh, their sunglasses darker, and their minds strategic: fai la signorina, ma pensa come un uomo. Being fabulous is full-time work, yet she makes it sound effortless, inviting everyone to own their power, command respect, and conquer their world - exactly like Anna Wintour.

Ho Scelto Me feels like Rocco Hunt’s personal diary cracked open to the beat of hip-hop. In the lyrics he admits he has “chosen himself” after years of feeling misunderstood, leaning on cigarettes for company, and watching friends disappear too soon. Between gritty snapshots of crowded rooms, worn-out sneakers, and the constant hum of social injustice, Rocco wrestles with guilt and relief: guilt for the people he leaves behind, relief for finally putting his own dreams first. The song’s raw honesty paints a vivid picture of a young man who refuses to keep swallowing disappointment and decides to rise, even if the climb is lonely.

At its heart the track is a rallying cry for self-preservation and resilience. Rocco salutes single mothers, absent fathers, and brothers juggling babies in their arms, all while challenging a country that chases money yet overlooks its youth. He promises to face every consequence of his choice, confident that real love will wait in pajamas back home. By the final chorus, “Ho Scelto Me” transforms into an anthem: choose yourself, acknowledge the scars, and keep moving because the future belongs to anyone brave enough to claim it.

Nu Juorno Buono (Good Day) opens with sunlight pouring through the window, the smell of coffee in the air, and a stereo playing loudly. Rocco Hunt uses this perfect morning to paint a picture of his beloved Campania: a land of dazzling beauty, friendly neighbors, and soulful dialects that deserve to be heard. The rapper celebrates the simple joys of hugging family, strolling carefree in the street, and feeling that, at least for today, nothing is missing.

Behind the feel-good vibe, however, lies a powerful message of social hope. Rocco contrasts the region’s natural warmth with harsh realities like toxic waste, rising cancer rates, unemployment, and the exodus of young people. Instead of giving in to anger, he calls for unity, new local businesses, and love over violence. By “cutting the line that divides North and South,” he dreams of a future where no one has to leave, banks serve the people, and every sunrise can be nu juorno buono for everyone.

Giovane Disorientato ("Disoriented Youth") is Rocco Hunt’s neon-lit postcard from an Italian night where everything feels possible yet nothing feels secure. Over a bouncing beat, he plays the role of the restless eighteen-year-old who slips into the club with big dreams, invisible tattoos, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. The refrain “La notte è giovane, io giovane disorientato” captures that sweet-and-sour moment when the music is loud, the crowd is happy, but inside you are still searching for direction. Between quick flashes of confidence (wanting to be “in alto” on stage) and raw confessions of anxiety and heartbreak, Rocco shows how easy it is to look grown-up on the outside while feeling lost on the inside.

The song becomes a rallying cry for every street poet and late-night thinker who feels like an “eterno peccatore” — a permanent sinner — but keeps dancing anyway. Friendships, money, and music offer brief shelter, yet the real comfort comes from talking, singing, and admitting the chaos. By the final chorus, “quelli come me sempre più disorientati” turns into a badge of honor: being confused is part of growing up, and sharing that confusion makes the night — and life — a little brighter.

“Ninna Nanna” may sound like a sweet lullaby, yet Ghali turns the bedtime song idea on its head. Over a hypnotic trap beat he fires off dream-like images—from “an igloo bubble” to “moonwalking shrimp”—that mirror the dizzy rush of fame. The chorus rocks back and forth like a cradle, but the verses are wide awake, packed with pop-culture nods, playful wordplay and streetwise swagger. That contrast captures the feeling of drifting between sleep and reality, between childhood fantasies and the hard, flashing lights of success.

At its core the song is Ghali’s self-portrait. The Milan-born son of Tunisian parents remembers coming “from a stall to a star,” a kid of modest means whose father was in jail and mother worked as a cleaner. Now he buys her a villa and dreams even bigger, yet he still feels lost—“I’m losing the route and my compass is broken.” “Ninna Nanna” celebrates the improbable ascent while warning that celebrity can be as fragile as a baby’s dream. It is a lullaby for grown-ups, rocking the listener with booming bass while whispering: keep your eyes open, even when the world tells you to drift off.

Una Seria is Baby K’s witty clap-back to anyone who still thinks a “serious girl” cannot dominate the rap scene. Over an electrifying club beat, the Italian MC flaunts her globe-trotting style, clever wordplay, and iron-clad confidence while poking fun at critics who reduce women to clichés. She flips the stereotype on its head: yes, she is una seria (a respectable, no-nonsense woman), but that does not mean she will tone down her attitude or her rhymes.

Between snapshots of all-night shows, hotel pit-stops, and rapid-fire pop-culture references, Baby K addresses an ex who traded her in for a supposedly “better” match. The repeated line “senza di te” (without you) drips with irony, because every bar proves she is thriving on her own terms. The song celebrates female empowerment, self-worth, and the thrill of defying expectations while turning the dance floor into a classroom for anyone who still doubts what a woman in rap can do.

“Vip In Trip” is Fabri Fibra’s high-octane ride through Italy’s pop culture circus. With tongue-in-cheek bravado he mocks self-proclaimed superstars, brand worshippers, and politicians who speak in empty “perepè qua qua” chatter. The hook’s paradox ‑ “Più vuoi e meno avrai / Più dai e meno prendi” (the more you want the less you will get, the more you give the less you receive) ‑ flips the usual success mantra and warns that chasing status often leaves you with nothing.

Between razor-sharp punchlines and playful sound effects, Fibra slips in personal reflections: leaving his small town, coming home to find everything changed, realizing the dream of fame is far messier than expected. References to Lucio Dalla, Adidas, Gucci, and Italian politics paint a vivid collage of modern Italy where hype blurs into reality. The track is both a dance-floor banger and a satirical mirror, urging listeners to laugh, think, and remember that real worth is found off the red carpet when the VIP trip is over.

“Il Secondo Secondo Me” is Caparezza’s witty self-portrait of an artist facing sequel anxiety while taking aim at every cliché he can find. The looping chorus – “Il secondo album è sempre più difficile” (“The second album is always harder”) – is more than a gripe about the music business. It becomes a springboard for a rapid-fire tour of social stereotypes, political hypocrisy, and cultural contradictions. Italians are “brava gente,” yet riddled with corruption; the English cling to their habits; racist myths about Black athletes and Arab writing are exposed and flipped. Between the jokes Caparezza reminds us that slogans, campaign promises, and media sound-bites can be as empty – and as catchy – as a pop hook.

Under the playful wordplay (“secondo” means both “second” and “according to”), the song hides a serious message: staying authentic is tough when everyone judges you by what came before. Caparezza parallels an artist’s fear of the sophomore slump with a country stuck in recycled rhetoric. Whether he mocks billion-euro footballers, nostalgic fascists, or ringtone politics, the takeaway is clear: repeating yourself is easy, evolving is hard. His advice? Question every ready-made label, keep creating, and never let the second time define you.