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The Italian

Let me sing along
with a guitar in my hands
Let me sing away
'Cause I'm an Italian
 
Good morning, Italy, with your "al dente" spaghetti
And a partisan as your president
With a car stereo always in your right hand
And a little canary by the window
 
Good morning, Italy, with your artists
But so much "America" on the posters
With your songs
With your heart
With always more women and fewer nuns
 
Good morning, Italy
Good morning, Mary
With your eyes full of melancholy
Good morning, God
Don’t you know I'm here too?
 
Let me sing along
with a guitar in my hands
Let me sing a song
A song, nice and softly
Let me sing away
Because I'm proud of it:
I'm an Italian
A born and bred Italian
 
Good morning, Italy,
that doesn’t let itself be scared
With peppermint shaving foam
With a pinstripe blue suit
And (soccer) replays on Sunday TV
Good morning, Italy, with "ristretto" coffee
The new socks in the top drawer
With the flag at the laundry
And a beat-up Fiat 600
 
Good morning, Italy
Good morning, Mary
with your eyes full of melancholy
Good morning, God
Don’t you know I'm here too?
 
Let me sing along
with a guitar in my hands
Let me sing a song
A song, nice and softly
Let me sing away
Because I'm proud of it:
I'm an Italian
A born and bred Italian
 
Original lyrics

L'italiano

Click to see the original lyrics (Italian)

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