Okay, okay
Do you want me to come back and start over?
Okay
I have hands made for gold and they are in the shit, damn

Blue RS7, little Dior backpack
Yellow capsule, I drive with diode headlights
Like CR7, I want Golden Balls
In Mercurial, I tear the goal
You have to stay straight, stay in family
Don't get lost in the devilry
And I remember my little brother Fami
He listened to it on loop at the power supply

I'm too high, the bar, the job (okay)
I can't even find the speaker button anymore
Fendi shirt and Dior slippers
I'm going to take a vacation to the Seychelles
We made a lot of gold singles, in promo car under the Eiffel Tower
The saha is tracking love
When you fart, it kills them
And I feint them all, João Félix
Vodka-red Bull, I'm at the obelisk
And it goes "vroom-vroom-vroom", it's the scuderia (okay)
It's too tactical like Serie A

They watch, they take the customers' numbers
Netflix set up on the folding chair
She has too much of a doll face
I loaded it, I have the coupe
There was a hit, you couldn't miss
I crumble on the fifty recharge

Fendi-di shirt, and Dior slippers (okay)
We made a lot of gold singles
Fendi-di shirt, and Dior slippers (you were making the album)
We made a lot of gold records

Now, I'm leaving the club at 2-50, on all my dead, she was sparkling
The royal suite on a big boat
I'm going to go around the world on the waters
Watch out, there are cops on motorcycles, a big barrier towards the Cadeneaux
The backpack and Dior sneakers
Normal, we made gold records

I smoke the purple weed from The Bishop
You want a hit, touch the north quarters
I'm doing fishtails to misery
I'm burnt like the Air-Bel roundabout
Like the smell of weed, slices
I'm independent, I made my label
I'm doing fishtails to misery
I'm burnt like the Air-Bel roundabout
Like the smell of weed, slices
I'm independent, I made my label

No, don't talk to me about the third, my buddy, now I'm prowling all risks insured
I don't care about the cops, now it's the tax office
You have to make a lot of sales in the record
Even the cops, they are calibrated, watch out, your phone, it had vibrated
There's no season, I rap summer, winter
I'm doing fishtails to misery
I'm burnt like the Air-Bel roundabout
Like the smell of weed and slices
I'm independent, I made my label
I did promotional tours
Don't fall into the emotional if you want my personal opinion
You have to be square and professional if you want my personal opinion

VIEW ORIGINAL LYRICS