A DISS TRACK ON BITCOIN - POOR MILLIONAIRE

August 2021.
I hit rock bottom.

I was broke.
Living in Berlin during the second year of the pandemic.
Surviving on government grants, scrambling to find scraps of funding to keep making music. Traveling across Europe with no budget—doing tiny gigs, sleeping on airport floors, going to movie auditions—anything to keep the dream alive. Eight years into my career, and I still refused to give up. I could feel something shifting.

And then came the final straw.

A former manager—someone I had chosen to part ways with just months earlier—decided she couldn’t stand the idea of me moving on without her. Years before, she’d fronted me some money to record a few songs, to be paid back gradually. But when I ended things professionally, it hit her ego harder than her bank account. So she weaponized the one thing I didn’t have: money.

She demanded immediate repayment.
She knew I couldn’t afford it.
She knew I didn’t have a lawyer.
But she also knew I had just received a grant to make my album Moonshot.

And so she went to court and had my bank account frozen.
She didn’t just take my money. She tried to take away my future.
I was drowning in layers of bureaucracy and administrative insanity—navigating grant rules, frozen funds, legal documents, financial institutions—designed to crush anyone without resources or connections. All of it aimed at stopping a broke artist from doing the one thing she was trying to do: make music.

One night, overwhelmed with rage, I screamed into a pillow so hard that I lost my voice. I couldn’t sing the next night. I couldn’t speak. I thought: What if this is it?

But in the middle of it all, I did what I know how to do: I wrote a song.

It was called Poor Millionaire—an ode to a person who has everything on paper but nothing in spirit. Someone who uses wealth to control, manipulate, and hurt. I wrote it with my friend Ed Prosek, who had also been burned by the same manager. And when we finished it, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months: peace.

That song helped me survive.
It gave me clarity.
And with what little I had, I made it to Nashville and recorded Moonshot—the record that would change my life just a few months later, in the most unexpected of ways.

Only three months after Poor Millionaire hit Spotify, I discovered Web3.
No more gatekeepers.
No more frozen accounts.
Just artists, community, and freedom.

And now, three years later, it’s time for Poor Millionaire to come home—to Bitcoin.

It feels poetic. In 2021, while everyone in Web3 was living through the most glorious bull run in history, I was being crushed by the weight of the old system. I needed to see how broken it was to truly understand that there had to be a better way.

So thank you, Manager.
You’re now immortalized on the most permanent, transparent network ever created.
This one’s for you—and all like you.

🎧 Poor Millionaire will soon be available for sale as a Bitcoin Ordinal on Gamma.io
⏰ Opens: Monday, May 26th at 10 am EST
⏰ Closes: Monday, June 2nd at 10 am EST
🎨 Featuring 7 unique artworks by my dad, Giuseppe Zironi (yes, the Disney one)
♾️ Open Edition for 1 week
🏷️ Price: 0.0002 BTC ($21)

There are 7 variations of the artwork, each representing a different fiat currency—and one representing the only currency of freedom: Bitcoin.

My entire goal with this song and its inscription on Bitcoin is to spread the message as far and wide as possible—to make sure as many people as I can reach know this story, and become aware. That’s why this edition is accessible in price and widely available.

But I also want to make sure the most passionate ambassadors for this message are celebrated and equipped to continue spreading it—beyond the digital realm.

So here’s something special:

If you collect all 7 artwork variations, I’ll ship you a free print of the artwork of your choice.
For every full set of seven you collect, you’re eligible for one free print—so yes, if you’re on it, you can eventually collect all 7 physically.

That way, when you have dinner parties and your guests ask,
“Why is there a butt surrounded by money and music on your wall?”
You can tell them the story.
You can tell them our story.
And keep spreading the message in real life.

Sometimes the worst things that happen to us become the very fuel that sets us free.
This song is a reminder that we, as artists, are no longer asking for permission.
We’re building something new—and this time, no one can freeze it.

With love, rage, and total clarity,

Violetta