(Verse 1) Yo, it’s Roberto, glitter in the limelight, Italian st

(Verse 1) Yo, it’s Roberto, glitter in the limelight, Italian stallion, got the cheeks sittin’ tight. Dolce & Gabbana, strut down the line, But behind that strut is a tale less divine. He sips on prosecco, walks like a god, But there’s drama in Rome — his derrière’s flawed. They call ’em grapes, not the kind you eat, Got a vineyard of pain underneath that seat. (Hook) He’s rainin’ b***d like Slayer, in couture despair, Sittin’ on silk cushions, screamin’ “life ain’t fair!” But he still throws shade with his rings and pearls, Even when the pain makes him wanna hurl. Roberto’s throne — yeah, it’s thorned with pride, A**l grapes out here, got no place to hide. But he owns it, flaunts it, in the midnight lights, Twerk through the tears, baby, pain got rights. (Verse 2) Bottega boots, walkin’ with a wince, Each step he takes got him clenchin’ since. The doctor said, “Roberto, take a seat!” He said, “Only on thrones and designer fleece.” He’s fabulous, fierce, never gonna fold, Even when the fire down below’s ice cold. He turned his piles into platinum bars, Now his pain’s on stage, blowin’ up like stars. (Hook) He’s rainin’ b***d like Slayer, in couture despair, Sittin’ on silk cushions, screamin’ “life ain’t fair!” But he still throws shade with his rings and pearls, Even when the pain makes him wanna hurl. (Outro) So here’s to the queens with the private pains, The sparkle warriors with invisible chains. Roberto rides high, even when it’s rough, ‘Cause bein’ fabulous means being tough.