| I do my intro, my entrance on a filtered bass
|
| An electro drum kit, a gutted microphone;
|
| In the middle of the disaster area, between factories and bistros
|
| I come to illustrate my cloister journey
|
| My anxieties of being frustrated in a confined space
|
| A castrated destiny, prostrate in the tail of a train
|
| Posted in withdrawal, without daydreams or enthusiasm
|
| My contempt is my forced and constrained shelter
|
| My regrets are full-bodied;
|
| Seen many times in these front and back stories I dump here
|
| My personal pedigree seems hopeless
|
| We want to lasso the beast, since few appreciate it
|
| Take the pressure off, stop my trial
|
| I feel like everything is stopping me from spitting out my version
|
| To drop my files, whatever you do
|
| Beware of my aversion, my gaze is frozen
|
| Badly received, misplaced, too disappointed and tired, my gaze is frozen. |
| X2
|
| Navy blues hate the width of my nostrils
|
| My melanin, the whiteness of my canines. |
| X2
|
| And apparently they're gonna kick us out
|
| Without delay come and pick us up on our steps
|
| And operate with the flagship, guns on the belt
|
| All to capture us and shoot to the sound of the bugle
|
| The country seems scared; |
| says outcasts are rotten
|
| Than crooked Arabs; |
| white nuts and neg'marron would be the damage
|
| That their madness is proven; |
| bewildered and furious;
|
| Deliberately sassy and drunk on drinking
|
| That the fight would have to be fought on the outskirts
|
| Broadcast on TV, aired off-line
|
| That TF1 would have the exclusivity of the safari
|
| Presented by a favorite animator bitch
|
| So take bets and tell all the parents
|
| That we'll have to put the children to bed and then take the grannies out
|
| Tonight on screen, a pure moment of magic:
|
| Hunger hunted by charter and ferry!
|
| Badly received badly placed too disappointed and tired my eyes are frozen x2
|
| Is it my black hair or my thick mouth that keeps me from belonging to
|
| the human species x2
|
| You've got the wrong number, you're not the favorite
|
| Not the hero we'll love at the end of the series
|
| Rather the immigrant that we will make sure to reintegrate
|
| The CRS, in serried ranks, released their sharp claws
|
| Your ulcer will macerate; |
| spill and wring
|
| All around your dizzy head, clubs are brandished
|
| The tanks are stiffened, tense, ready to bombard
|
| It's not worth parading, you don't belong in paradise
|
| It's decided you're dead. |
| Chatting is a lost cause
|
| Your hovel is degraded, your violence is unbridled
|
| Your culture is depraved, your brain is washed out
|
| You'll be drooling because your grave is already engraved
|
| They'll brave anything they find in your court
|
| Finish finishing the brothers who have not yet died
|
| Save yourself without depriving yourself of it, if you're still alive
|
| They're motivated to put the final word on your resume
|
| Badly received badly placed too disappointed and tired your look is frozen x2
|
| And my race smells like piss food shit
|
| Live in the abyss of vice and filth x2 |