This is some Parisian rap
I'd make poverty disappear if I were a magician
I'm going to tell you the height of the plastic surgeon
It's seeing his wife leave with the gym teacher
Just after he redid her breasts
I still miss the era of Gilles
X-Men, Wu-Tang Killa Bees and their swarm
We're stigmatized because we're not saints
Mr. Officer, we know who drinks Pastis 51
You get shot for a piece of land
Cops, to them, you're nothing
If you take down a man, aim well
Because a wounded man is worth a lot
I need to stop drinking beer, I'm bloating like the Michelin man
It's the decline, I'm getting Masonic winks
I still hear the DAS' that kills, where is the pharmaceutical institute?
Screw their esoteric logos
If I could, I'd give all the homeless a thermal blanket
Outraged by the number of old women who love Derrick
While Horst Tappert was a damn SS
France is scary, tribute to Clément Meric
Every skinhead hunter deserves a bounty
I rap shamelessly, standing tall like a volcano in Auvergne
Against the drunks who govern us
I like men who have a grip, firm handshakes
We should tie the snitches on the railway tracks
A sincere friendship is as beautiful as a burning prison
Put earplugs in Hell, there are people screaming
I rap the ue-r, no one plays mambo
You're in mortal danger like the followers of Jo Di Mambro in Vercors

This is some Parisian rap
With a blade in the pocket like a Tunisian
Life is dangerous, we all die in the end
Cousin, rapping fast doesn't mean rapping well
Parisian with a dog's head
Yeah but Parigo, beast of flow
PSG on the jersey like "Paris-Seth-Gueko"

This is some Parisian rap
Straight out of a Franck Margerin book
Alien rap like Grishka and his brother Igor
A sound from gory Paris, not from Périgord
Who expresses himself with slang and oxymoron
Who, once upon a time, sold drugs under the corridor
This is some Parisian rap
I would have refused to be called "Pedal" even if my name was Poulidor
Beware of still waters
If I walk with my head down it's because my chain weighs at least two gold kilos
Always faithful to my junk
You got no money, go find some gold
Ouch, we put gloves on the chrome Winchester
Not to get caught
We were immersed in crime, we swim backstroke
Allah y ster, may God preserve me from Aleister Crowley's mystical rites
I'm saving money, it's money freezing
In your friends, there's your worst enemy in disguise
I stay straight like the Orion constellation
Aligned with the pyramids of Giza
It smells like trouble, it's hot for your ID number
Go, I move between orgies and fine particles
I raise my glass of mint liquor
For the dads who left the factory to smoke asbestos

This is some Parisian rap
With a blade in the pocket like a Tunisian
Life is dangerous, we all die in the end
Cousin, rapping fast doesn't mean rapping well
Parisian with a dog's head
Yeah but Parigo, beast of flow
PSG on the jersey like "Paris-Seth-Gueko"

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