Between the textile, the coal, the walls
Of bricks and the mines
The mining towns, the gray sky, the factories
The courtyards, the cobblestones, the
Spoil heaps and the drizzle
The endives, the gloom, the
Fog and the Jenlain
I was born there, I wandered there, I
Explored every corner
From the beaches of Dunkirk
To the bar in Tourcoing
The hell of the north, its roads
Its cobblestone sidewalks
On my mountain bike, I rode and rode
Wandering, pondering, ruminating, daydreaming
The soles of my Nikes
I wore them out, wore them out
When the cold rain comes
To freeze your forehead
To freeze your tears and soak your underwear
It's the stress, the anxiety with
The rhythm of the seasons
65 days of sunshine and 300 days of depression
Apart from that, everything is fine in my north
It was just 16 bars to
Set the scene

I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north

A football team supported by the skins
Elected officials with promises worth 2 cents
A national police that
Treats us like guinea pigs
Municipal police that think
They're cowboys
Abusive control, expulsion of the undocumented
Unsanitary public housing where precariousness reigns
Lille, the stronghold, the land of the socialists
The caviar left, discriminatory and demagogic
In our walls like asbestos
Invisible and dangerous
Vicious Freemasons, paternalistic
And mafioso, they pretend to be
Honest, authentic, and popular
And with every mandate, they
Turn it around on us
I don't know if the people of Lille have
Shit in their eyes
Given the pile of shit they
Put in the ballot boxes
It's time to give a kick
To this anthill
Some poison, some traps
Some mousetraps

I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
Lille by night is pathetic to see
At the pub exits, it
Vomits on the sidewalks
Junkies nodding off in the train station halls
And it turns away the tanned ones at the bar entrances
I'm not going to glorify my postal code
The proud ass or the chauvinist for two cents
In this country, I'm reminded that
I'm not at home
Here I have my bearings, my family, that's already something
So I make do with what I have even
If it pisses me off
Unhappy to comply or accept fatality
I chose to speak out
Militate by chronicling
Maybe I'm just blowing hot air but
It passes the time
I give a shout-out to the bradeux
And the little pouchins
One for HK, my big Ronchin
Very, very far from paradisiacal settings
But in the end, how good it is at home

I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north
I'm a Lillo, a true one, my bastard
A Cht'i, a Chabert, a brute, a prole
So what, so what, so what
A true, a true one from the north

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES