Bar terrace, I do the three kisses on the forehead
("How's it going? Does it make sound?")
I reply, "yeah," but in my head, I'm not making sound, I'm changing the world
For your grandmother, I do yoyo, wesh
For me, I remove parentheses, and I tell the news from the front
I do the dishes in football shorts
I love rap, it's light that comes out of us
I don't do dick size contests
I don't talk about others, they do their shit
I wish them happiness and money
I wish myself a couch and some chips

I'm like everyone else, I'm afraid of what I don't know
I'm afraid of love, I'm afraid of savings accounts
I don't like show-offs, not fake debates
Two feet on the accelerator, it doesn't prevent false starts
Ears sticking out, they called me "Canalsat"
Girls aren't for me, my cousin told me, "wait for college"
The fresh rain smells like asphalt
Eighty euros for G-Star, it smells like a scam
My bro Ange lends me west side, it smells like a slap, yeah, yeah, han

That's it, I weigh enough for people to change
I don't give a damn, it's just crap
I stay sincere like children
Sometimes, I get lost in the numbers
The euros, the views, the streams
And I tell myself that those who only talk about money
Are the ones who don't know what else to say
They look at me weird like the principal
He wants a photo, I'm embarrassed
I say, "sisi" I don't know what else to say
It's no longer Bosnia in the fridge
I reason with a friend who's losing it because his girl wants a dildo

Wesh, guys, let's stop acting like fools
You're afraid of abandonment, that's all, take a breath, do some push-ups
I'm with Lucci, Murer, Luis, making tracks
Right now, I don't drink, I dream again
Soon, I won't sleep, I'll make leaps, it's the pressure of the album

"Yeah, hi my cat, it's mom
Well listen, I wanted to get some news
See how you're doing, I know you're working hard right now
Well, I kiss you and I love you very much" mmh

I'm in the car writing
I start my verse with, "I'm in the car writing"
Whatever happens, you can find me in the car writing
I like rapping before the battery
I stop writing when it says "low battery"
I'm not wasted, bro, it's fatigue
I'm not sad, bro, it's life
I listen to tandem, imagine
You look at me, you see my city like on the cover of Illmatic

I'd like to feature Prince Waly
I only make tracks with people who can eat at my family's
I think back to Trabendo, Martin kissing Bakari
As if he were his big cousin, as if he were family
That's why we make music
It's not to dress at Colette, it's not to sleep at Brigitte's
I finish the track, send myself a fry and go to bed
I think back to grandpa's garden, the smell of cigarettes, the dandelion wars

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