They shot a little brother, we burned Foot Korner
Lidl and MJC, there are things we can't explain
I just wanted a comma on my sneakers
And less red in my mother's eyes
There are things we can't explain
There are tears we can't wipe away

I was little, I was ashamed to be me
Football field, I was ashamed to be there
The three-eyed crocodile on my polo looked at me
As if there was really no more hope
She told me, "it's better if we stop here"
Suddenly, in the sky, there are no more stars
I understood why dad stopped talking
When he put on the black glasses

Hey, our hearts are not computers
Revenge is best served cold but here, bro
It has the scent of the freezer
He does nothing, he plays the moderator
(He does nothing, he plays the moderator)
It annoys me like guys who say
"I'm an artist, I'm not really a rapper"
The sun is orange like the KTM
Ready to speed up for an old profit
The elder tells the kids there's not much, from PCS to hassanates
I don't know where we're going and when we'll get lost
(I don't know where we're going and when we'll get lost)
But I know that with courage and a bit of dream
We can color the HLMs
(I know that with courage and a bit of dream)
(We can color the HLMs)

No, I don't want to leave anymore
They went to seek happiness elsewhere
No, we don't want to leave anymore, so far
They went to seek happiness elsewhere
It's nice in the hood, it's not just gray in the ghetto
Scars on our heads and scratches on our Range Rovers
It's nice in the hood, it's not just gray in the ghetto
Scars on our heads and scratches on our Range Rovers

All the pain in the world in my AirPods
Here, you'll hear few "I love yous"
It's like a client and an escort
If I draw a line, I do it frankly
Without regrets, I no longer look in the rearview mirrors
Little brother used to get my clothes
Little sister is being harassed on social networks
How to say there's no happy end?
Add some pink to the sky
I color the HLMs, rocked by the bass in a sound system
They told me, "you see, times change"
I see an eternal restart
My friends who want children
They still behave like children
No need for GQ to know I won't be the man of the year
Good only at dissecting my melancholy and rapping it
I come from where brothers still have acne past thirty
Dressed all in black and white sneakers
The bourgeois and I, we don't come from the same France
My freedom is a 125 and a full tank of gas

No, I don't want to leave anymore
They went to seek happiness elsewhere
No, we don't want to leave anymore, so far
They went to seek happiness elsewhere
It's nice in the hood, it's not just gray in the ghetto
Scars on our heads and scratches on our Range Rovers
It's nice in the hood, it's not just gray in the ghetto
Scars on our heads and scratches on our Range Rovers

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