I was robbed by childhood friends
When you rise, they want to bring you down
That's life in France
Apart from 2/3 real brothers, I have no associates in the dough
One side sociologist, one side sociopath
By the sweet sea
We feel good when we're there
Came out of my sweet mother with a sawed-off shotgun
I establish dictatorship, and the pillaging of cities
Heart filled with scars
Like Seal's face
The bare minimum without excess
The best, of all these blacks and all these whites
Talented but little recognition
Like a black under Elvis
I had a trick in front of banknotes
Or in front of Brooks Davis
I need to touch France and the neighboring countries
2005 I'm 10 years old I imitate Booba, I imitate Rohff
Africa is so poor
I think they're cursed there
It's normal, they believe in witchcraft and in Mami Wata
The media talk about us, they don't know our lives
We shoot, we rob, we sell, but we don't rape our girls
I write with the blood of enemies
Everything is quadrilateral
There are 2/3 rich families that have gridded the earth
Cold sweat brushes my skin when I think about death
When I think about the morgue
Just time tackles me by the throat
Pedophiles I strangle them with their rosary
I grant Nessbeal's wish
There's not just sports music or crimes
Solo in the dark, against myself
That's how I meditate
We will end up underground, big, we won't burn the coffin
They don't understand, I don't even do this for the money anymore
I consulted my damn hunger in the agenda
I need to make money, I need to make my plates
Sociologist & Sociopath
My ground is white, my sky is black
Sociologist & Sociopath
I need to make money, I need to make my plates
Sociologist & Sociopath
My ground is white, my sky is black
Sociologist & Sociopath

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