Praise without a bouquet, without tears, I arrive, a bullet lodges
Okay, I do nothing without art, and death has booked me a long time ago
Rebel in the soul, my hatred waits in the wings
And the laughter under lock and key, and the weapon close by, I killed the clock
I don't write novels, I write, I let everything go
Rap on the organ, I come, I'm going to close the loop
My songs crack, I ensure order, I have the same
Hunger as before the crash, on gold, they want to roll
Barely one or two verses, ignore the message and spit on the man

I train instruments, it's in the curriculum
Like after the trigger press
You can't catch the words that the mouth releases
My life, my back, knife blows
I pick the lock of taboos with a hook
I lay down morality, nod your head
I speak French, like a six hundred shot slave
Come closer, I hit, the blood flows, I wash my honor
If their world is not damaged, it's because we are all cowards
Microphones without balls, slam, kick stolen rhymes
I claim that lyrical crime pays, to die, we are all old enough
The limit, push it, we are all here for a limited time
We all dream big, full of stars to unhook (tch tch)
Revenge sends the balls back like Federer
Ace, game, set and match, funeral service
I want a scratch, I have a prayer for the b-boys of yesterday
Hip-hop sleeps in a stone garden (tch tch)
I have my own style, a prayer for these blood-red revolts
That turn into green dollar, ninety-nine against one percent
A prisoner's life where there is no more sense, look at what it pushes us to
Powerful, I have united the lighter with the powder since the marriage for all
The ground is slippery, and I go as a scout
Since the time we talk about it
Me, I remain a sharpshooter, since bullets don't lie
Left for dead, my name, I won't wait for these traitors to erase it
I write frescoes, it's Van Gogh, negro, lend an ear
Even without drugs, I fly above the lot, I'm a mystery
For them, I started, small shake at the bottom of the Richter scale
Lover of risk and vermin sound, you want me to drive rap
On the right path, but I drive drunk, I don't even have a license
No Jasmine revolution, wars, I don't know any saints
I'm going to kill Rimbaud to give back to Cesaire, I don't switch from rum to absinthe, no
The thunder announces me, I have nothing else to do, rap what bothers me
Spit verses that knock out, I scratch live from a crack house
I push my blues into you, I'm a twelve shot Jackass
Like Cruz in the Princes of the City, I paint junkyard dogs
I marry the rhythm, kick, I'm like a mafioso in Tuscany
Negro accused of auditory rape, I want the same lawyer as Strauss-Kahn
I join the Fight Club with forehead and knuckles, without tweezers (tch tch)
I'm seriously alive, and I'm too old to follow the twenty-seven
I listen to their track, there's nothing left but bills and alcohol, Benz
They confused holding the bar and pole dancing
Blood is thicker than water, from a large family
The debate is closed, I rap far from these shits that make the buzz
As if victory taught me how to lose
I understood the meaning of the verb "to exist", kneeling on my father's grave
I won't back down, I carve my stanzas with a cutter, I enumerate the blows
I keep the switch on OFF, I fuck the light bearer
God has a plan, I've had fire in my soles for too long
The thing is not to tell the truth or not, it's who wants to hear it?
I sniffed Biggie's ashes, I rap it sounds Brooklyn
Live from the jungle, I write another chapter of Mowgli's book
Still not sober under Jack, I've aged, I'm repainted
You're looking for the difference between half empty and half full
I won't avoid dramas, blows, it motivates
To increase the impact, history will find me a motive
I rap, rob victory, we'll get there, who knows, we don't let go
It's Rocky one, Rocky two, three, four, it's Rocky sixteen, we don't let go.
I sing without chains, dude, you might hear my prayers
Tell the little brothers that our story doesn't start with the slave trade
Tell them, tell them that everything that goes up comes down, dude, it's scientific
Like everything that dies between four walls is anti-cop
I identify the evil, I have the weaponry, I apply myself, sometimes I let go of the handle
Rap lies to me, like I miss Tupac
I eat the world, too many pixels, high definition message
Double-XL, no massage without a happy ending (tch tch)
I know the ropes, me, I'm a monster against an army of men
I always have a dirty trick up my sleeve like a gangster medium
Ninety-five, Val d'Oise, Northern Part
I grew up in the sixth cauldron, the Cherry Orchard, I understand the blacks of Baltimore
I have the wrong profile, I hit without backing down, I'm a tenor
You're just a necrophilic zombie, fuck your dead
On the good beat I'm dead, and Bambi got hit by a bumper
In the biz, I come back, I spit, I say, "raise your arms, don't drop your pants"
A dirty thing, at war 24/7, even on holidays
I'm a case, me, I rap without pause, I hear the ammunition screaming
Sorry, that's my definition of a warrior's rest
I arrive, I have an AK-47 during a pillow fight
I woke up one morning with my memory bleeding
These idiots have planted a bomb in my kindergarten
And, since then, Jeanne wants to become Serge, Olive is fucking with Tom
Think, you become an adult between four walls, shit in the rectum
It's the thug we adore, I grow up, I have preconceived ideas
What is life after death?
Who is fucking Smurfette?
Far from the snot era, he has trouble getting up
Hope on a wheelchair, even Superman has died
Smile kidnapped by a sad clown, artificial coma
The street is like Ronald's, it's full of coke and big macs
December 25th in hell, let carelessness bury the corpse
Tell Santa Claus to come down to our blocks if he has balls
Pigs pollute the prose, purple bills, power and big breasts
Take off after the dose, all dealers are magicians
Tell them to put away the green thumbs, the likes, where I go, people treat me
As a murderer, I take what life gives me, and I give back what the legend lends me
Tell them that my heart stopped beating on a February 14th
Now, I take life on all fours, like a greyhound bitch
I rap, I vomit, I spit the fruit of my guts
I know, I should have worked on my algebra, given the price of my cuts
For all the junk in the world, I won't let go of my occult grammar
When our kids' role models become breast implants and big butts
And I hear them trying to meow like Drake
Hoping to rape record sales, might as well rob a Greek bank
I hit without a break, it's time for the bill, the losers pay
This might be my last appearance, I never dreamed of a career in rap
I invite myself into your ideal world, I have a knife as big as Lil Wayne
I get on a clash, I'm like a scratch on Nolwenn
I make a stain, I'm not a prophet in my village, so I wear metallic objects
I plead with razors in my mouth, like Malik
But, life is not an Audiard film, nothing is scratched in advance
There's fire, gasoline, a bottle when I screamed at France
For these word games baptized "punchlines"
For these youngsters who have made a pact with the Devil for more sunshine
It's jab, jab direct, jab, dude, it's jab, jab direct, uppercut
Hook, the art of the punchline that hits
For money issues, we have answers without a hood
We dream of a world without cops, we die, we charge, we have a taste for risk
It's for these big cities full of empty people and tattooed walls
Where we think we're alive watching the world behind tinted windows
Not stingy with words, I never knew how to finish my texts at sixteen
I write too talkative titles
As if I was afraid of not saying enough, I rap Requiems

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