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In BonfigliaraIn the village of my fatherWe hunt ChingaleWe roast CastanasIn the providence of ImperiaThe region of Liguria Bonfigliara, village of my father1700 kilometers away from the town of RanzoThe winding road is so narrowYou have to honk around corners for cars cause you can't see themHalfway up the mausoleum where my grandparents restBut the best part is the steady climbI can already smell the wine, the basil, the coffee, the breadMy head gets warm, my heart slows down a paceThe village greets us, the loving looks on my family's faceIn BonfigliaraIn the village of my fatherWe hunt ChingaleWe roast CastanasIf it meant you never saw my face again, my friend I would end this run right now and cop a 9 to 5 so my father wouldn't have to sell that houseBut I chase this guilty pleasure, letting treasure disappear, my biggest fear, been in my family over two hundred yearsAnd it was in this house that the Nazi's shot my fathers uncle cause he wouldn't buckle on hidden tobacco that he had stashed behind a secret cabinetSongtexteAnd it's in this village, there's only about 9 house, that's itLittle church in the middle, only opens once a year to honor the saintThe paint is all peelingCharming decaying sugarcane ceilingsThey had to install a running toilet for our first visit in the 80'sCesare's back with his American wife and babies!He left that farm at seventeen for Switzerland and young loversThe oldest of three brothersHustled his way to France, then danced to the Bahamas, found MiamiPeeled a pear for Sharon, then had Dre and mePapagallo hard pill to swallowChances are low with a family in towMom's gotta work, too proud to borrowBecause of where we come from, no slumsA mayor of 25 years, my grandfathers name was GiuseppeHe farmed the land for all his needs, and he had plentyGrew his own tobacco, rolled his own cigarettes, when they had dinner guests he would take his cart to the market to trade his harvest with local artists and butchersA true pusher, with an ox in the cellarMaking and bottling Bruna wineBrewed me a stash in 77, drank one last year but I still got elevenIn the cellar with the bats where the walls are packed with hay and earth there's a little shelf where my name is written, right next to my date of birth in pencil, on the bottles that Giuseppe left for meMy family tree, my bloodlineThat's what we said andre, said AndreThe house must stayThe house must stay(In BonfigliaraIn the village of my fatherWe hunt ChingaleWe roast Castanas) Aus Songtexte Mania