I don't make good music if I have nothing to say
And I don't want to go if there's nothing to experience
(I won't write anything at all)
I'll only draw smiles at the end of the book
We used to run the coffee through the same filter at least twice
There are still shows, but it's not the same circus
There's still a big hole, but it's not the same emptiness
There's still smoke, but it's not the same shit

Hey, we became adults way too fast
The borders I crossed were way too thin
Don't worry, I don't have a side bitch, I'm on the block
Here, it's a fight, bastard
Lead, silver, no "ques-J" or disaster
Hey, I went to hustle near Sète
In rap like a teacher in a ZEP (Priority Education Zone)
You want to mess with my mind, "fuck off," that's the mantra
Of course, you'll miss her but fuck it

I light up a joint and leave Earth
In rap like a teacher in a ZEP
By breaking this glass ceiling, I've become strong-headed
I'm no longer afraid to win, no longer afraid to lose
I count in rents and speak in debts
Unwanted child
I can't make a single choice without hesitating
I can chain-smoke three cigarettes without breathing
Look each other in the eyes without dodging
It's not a bad idea (it's not a bad idea)
I look at the water in the gas, I make projections
Fork on the TV for the connection
Becoming strong like this is a profession

I'm like a separate mood, she wants to do it in Luna Park
The lambs have the peace that the wolf doesn't
Before singing, I poured out all the napalm
A separate mood, she wants to do it in Luna Park
The lambs have the peace that the wolf doesn't

What I see us becoming, I find it touching
It smells like victory and gunpowder
If you don't untie the knot, it becomes loose
In the best case, it wraps around, yeah, yeah
My shooting star is a satellite but I still make a wish
And your shining looks that congratulate us, they never fade
"It's not Versailles," he would have said, Grandpa
I would have told him "we do what we can," The ques-J, BEN plg
It's our faces on the cover, we do what we want

She has a separate mood, we finally did it in the Buddha Bar
I'm a separate wolf, bastard, I fuck them with distance
No one with more talent in the field
Tonight I'm going to get wasted, some fresh weed, some Van Bommel
Alcohol on our wounds, no ointment
If I don't isolate myself, I blow, there's no bum-al
NBOW, bitch, I just shed a tear, employer's charge
I protect myself, I hid the surname
We are pitiful exemplary employees in the employer's eyes
Baby, I'm in bum-al mode, we'll see each other after the next record

Right now, I'm in bum-al mode, I rhyme dreams and postal codes
We're not doing too bad, me and my four assholes
They watch like the guy on the five-dollar bill
Like Collina on the cover of PES 3
I arrived in rap like a parking maneuver in a Renault Espace
We rap prayers, not whispers
I sing about cheese on pasta, if I go out, it's on a stretcher, otherwise I don't go out
I confuse stars and satellites
The doves perch on the gutters
To listen to the city rats sing

You want to mess with my mind, "fuck off," that's the mantra
Of course, you'll miss her but fuck it
No one will mess with our minds, "for the glory," that's the mantra
Sometimes, you'll doubt but fuck it

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