Hey... guys,
I just want to lay down some text...
Even if there's no theme, let the words from my head loose...
Because in my head it's confusing...
I just want to be free...

Who really knows what's in my head?
Apart from Allah and my crew,
The full of Rap and that in the neighborhood I no longer have a mother or recourse,
All these problems that push me to take off,
To forget on stage, push me to act crazy, undressed.
Yet there are as many people as in Beijing who claim to know my life, and even be able to write a book about it,
These fools, who don't know, drown that there is in my dreams,
Lots of lies, make me believe that the world is angelic,
Show us monkeys, it's their job,
They like safaris in Africa and damn jeeps,
They see deaths but no minutes of silence,
Where are we? In the planes in the heart, and it's the audience records,
I speak, I contribute to their wealth,
You think that the quail of my Air Max, in which belly? It creates fat.
Not in my mother's anyway,
I get lost, just the halal chips from MacDo and chicken in the coke,
Look, how I confuse halal and haram
Even worse sometimes, I think that halal is haram,
That's why, I screw those who put me in this dilemma,
Drive a BMW or leave mom in the projects,
If that's what being the street is, well I screw you all,
At my place they're drowning, I have to do and you see so they all get out!
I have to forget these damn fantasies, I have to forget these inflatable dolls, which can give me asthma attacks,
Because we are all weak in front of buttocks,
We know it but deep down constantly in the pit and we spank,
Confessed in front of so many sins,
When life is a big April Fool's fish that we only catch.
Dry, his tears next to a flame,
From a lighter or drown his tears in alcohol when the smile of pain is to be in gay peace,
All this brother leads to the hospital,
Reality then the hurricane and its pompoms so that we become strong,
Put down your shit, compose your island of brothers,
Forget the 7777 and their triple heroes,
Bring the quail to the zone, avoid the zone,
Get yourself a chick, a kid, tan on our beaches!

To be free like the dove, from the colonists I deliver myself since they deliver nothing from my books,
Don't give a damn about their Christmas trees and their fireworks,
Miss me with gunshots, under their damn tricks!

The doves, don't know how lucky they are,

To let themselves go with the wind, adapt to the seasons,
Often, their vulture's amplitude that hovers over our heads,
So that we remain pigeons in the middle of those who salute the seagull,
Those who make the laws so that the chickens pipe the dice,
I dream of Saint's Guiving, when I see it's crazy the idea,
Do the Slimani, the world will believe that it comes from the halal,
So Justin Bridou quickly becomes a friend!
Their rooster, is athletic thanks to football,
There are too many puppets ask Yves Lecoq,
Fuck, the president in front of the judge,
It's asking Bové to come eat in an American Fast Food!
Too purging years of suffering instead of bastards
Who can afford the world, as soon as their nail is broken,
Or don't ask to pity them when it rains planes on their bush,
I rap for each piece, supposed to be in their shoes end up in my mouth,
Finished the whip lashes on the back, whether physical or psychological,
Now I'm showing off on my physique and my psyche.
From the multinational high that it's in BMW, my address, is each apartment of the projects.
On my face the wrinkles of patience draw the waiting I'm the disciple,
Where are my projects that the clouds dissipate!
That's why I'm struggling my race!
That's why these bastards will come and hassle me!
Because I'm a man not in the norm,
A man who carries heavy between his legs,
Who lays rescue on metroland,
My kids you ask God shows our huge and soft faith
Every time he shows us the world of the world he gives!
With the hope of being reimbursed, that's why Africa is in debt,
So let me put on, the slippers of this beautiful country,
How does Jean-Marie lie? We'll have to get paid one day!
It's shit and the toilets are at the stone house,
His doormat of happiness many are waiting with a knife like Richard June on the air,
Is he a murderer? A victim that we have in the ground?
Victim of a discomfort like a sentence in the early rounds,
Committed on our heads of bodies, because we are inhabitants of the towers,
We have to tell everyone, in our heads it's a mess,
We just want to be free.

To be free like the dove, from the colonists I deliver myself since they deliver nothing from my books,
Don't give a damn about their Christmas trees and their fireworks,
Miss me with gunshots, under their damn tricks!
To be free like the dove, from the colonists I deliver myself since they deliver nothing from my books,
Don't give a damn about their Christmas trees and their fireworks,
Miss me with gunshots, under their damn tricks!

That's it... shit... we move on instinct... just to be free...
That's what's in my head, that's it... to have wings...
Join the skies like the dove... be free...

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