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He: Let’s fottere, my love, let’s fottere,

Since all of us were born only to fottere.

You adore the cazzo and I the potta.

The world would be nothing without this act.

If it were proper to fottere after death,

I’d say let’s fottere ourselves to death,

Then we could fottere Adam and Eve,

Who died such a dishonourable death.

She: Truly, if those truants hadn’t eaten

that treacherous apple in the garden,

Lovers would long ago have quenched their lust.

But let’s stop chatting. Stick your cazzo in

So that it reaches my heart, and crush the soul

That lives or dies issuing from he cazzo.

He: Don’t leave out my balls –

Take them inside the potta,

those witnesses of every extreme pleasure.