Hey

Look what I did with 10k, imagine what I can do with 450
To all these cans that ended up in ashtrays
To all these guys whose snacks we stole who ended up as cops
If I put my hands on your face when I kiss you
It's because you matter, when I write, I know you matter
Don't leave your production lying around at the end if you don't want others to screw it
I've always dreamed of a beard and making rap
We fuck too intensely for it to last
Come now, let's talk about real things
I don't have to say I'm the best, you know it
Let's go
If there's one guy you shouldn't mess with, it's Jacques-J
Should I detail the dirty tricks or should I stay chic?
Contract with L'Oréal, production by Seak, artist, music teacher, it's hard to live off that
We pay for me to empty the bag, an artist's life, a life of hustle
I told you we'd run away to Lausanne, I was alone
Jacques-Ja, it's not Lyonzon, I'm not originally from here
I have the contract scratched by a team of six from Assas
It was written, we make it happen
No one has done Jacques-Ja, I write it, I make it happen
They try to screw me, I adapt
Originally, I had hair, damn, originally, I had finished the album, fucker
And it's like a pulse that revives me
It was Parisian snow that I blew in Naples
There's always the window of the RER moving to Gouss'
I try to capture in a few words what required two chapters
The buzz, I dodge it, is it necessary that I linger in the middle of ten atoms
Urban rodeo that becomes the beginning of something
Refuse a five-figure proposal, no time to chain five shits
They want the rights to the songs I lined up when I was chaining five shifts
Fuck off, Jacques, it's not the S
It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't have time to lie anymore
1200 tickets, it only goes in bundles of a hundred
It's not a signature, it's a transfer window
Volume 3, I fuck the Tokyo model from the Opium clip, part 1
Two fingers away from spoiling Netflix
But I can't yet shut up Lionel's droolers
Anyway, health update, this fucker, he's started on mushrooms, 0-2-3-22
7-31 the summer will be sad, end of take, where's my champagne?
Where's my champagne?
That's it, it's decided, no time for excuses
I'm going to do it with an iPhone, garage, Audacity
Hell on Earth, Mobb Deep, I plugged in the mic, I slept at the hotel
18 years old, since I don't know how to crack, I fuck the CROUS scholarship for FL
I start the rap without autotune, without FX
We do the camps, we drink piss for three bucks at Syphax
A few years later, I see that in fact, it was five minutes from Sony
Jacques, it's not Zola, you're dead if you're not solid from the start
The day I don't sleep anymore, I finish Jean Morel's rum

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