| Yeah
|
| Half Portion
|
| And Chinese
|
| Run for your life
|
| Save who can, save who can
|
| On a prod with a butt of phew
|
| Yeah
|
| go swing
|
| Save who can Rachid
|
| Since my first days, I'm suffocating
|
| France is corrupt
|
| She pushes for disaster
|
| Outside it smells of suffering
|
| Youth is unsociable
|
| To believe that in the abyss, our life binds with the devil
|
| If everything is negotiable and it's not written in the bible
|
| Knowledge is a weapon but we won't miss the target
|
| Save who can because
|
| This way of life overwhelms us
|
| Sprinter told you, it's more physical to walk in the sand The street is not
|
| not profitable and you lose your sense of bearings
|
| Loud mouths, addiction, you know how we operate
|
| Accurately
|
| And we don't beat around the bush
|
| By dint of walking in the embers, everyone wants to save his skin
|
| There's no more glimmer of hope
|
| We gonna pay for the air we breathe
|
| The street is not the fair and that's why it inspires me
|
| There are sharks on our heels
|
| The bitterness that gnaws at us
|
| The atmosphere ignites and we are far from throwing in the towel
|
| Yeah the weather is turning stormy
|
| There's no smoke without fire
|
| It's do or die here but if you walk they'll fire
|
| They draw us into the flames
|
| Vice plays tricks on us
|
| We're used to blame, traitors and vultures
|
| Take a good look at the surroundings
|
| The shit that surrounds us
|
| Sectarian and hardened, we zapped the emergency exit
|
| We survive your shipwreck
|
| The bitterness floods us
|
| My grudge grows old from my view on this world
|
| Realize that we are stuck
|
| The future has taken flight
|
| There's nothing good here, know that shit is free
|
| And by dint we take a liking to it
|
| Morale hardens
|
| You can think of disgust, we'll never be at your mercy
|
| Both feet in the mud, we stay sincere and precise
|
| Many play double-sided when the pavement narrows
|
| Only goal, we make ourselves understood, always with this acid flow
|
| We're not here for the money and even less to play the boss
|
| Need to express myself, spit out my vision
|
| My bic his cam to the underdog until I die of an overdose
|
| Always in lack of luck, very quickly we become skillful
|
| The shit is felt, it's the street that vomits its bile
|
| Save who can, Chinese
|
| It's good, you got the diagram
|
| In a few rhymes, it will jump like Hiroshima
|
| It's gone a little XXX, I forgot the hchouma
|
| Obviously normal that we don't care about their thanks
|
| Cultivate your payments
|
| This sentence does not rock me
|
| Here our little ones have grown up and know that you don't fuck them
|
| Worship the taste of the bait
|
| Go ahead, save who can
|
| I'm not here to repeat what the bitch thinks quietly
|
| And I get angry as much as I can
|
| Leave me at least that
|
| Try to talk to everyone who hasn't given up yet
|
| Come to death shock the state
|
| Rap as a Berreta
|
| Go ahead, keep your prejudices, you who want us to get over it
|
| There is no one who enjoys
|
| Some have broken down
|
| In the silence or in the noise, we like to shout too much in the calm
|
| Except who can, no no
|
| There's this reality in front
|
| As many end up atheists in order to avoid races
|
| Save who can bro
|
| I won't do you bad manners
|
| If we forgot the bedo and the slap at the customs?
|
| Stop!
|
| We just came to rap clean in truth
|
| Too dope with this Hip-hop
|
| No gangsters to imitate
|
| Too many false airs to avoid
|
| We're halfway there
|
| There's so many punctured wheels that we had to buy back Michelin
|
| Here nobody aims at anything
|
| The future is in your hands
|
| Consider us like the little ones in the big garden of the dwarves
|
| Go check out the conditions
|
| And make up your mind
|
| The street went on fire, she melted the thermostat
|
| Returned my brothers to the shtars
|
| Blacks and North Africans
|
| As I will not mince words for you
|
| You yourself know despite how much shit there is
|
| Of brothers covered in marbles
|
| That's like telling you how many freaking Arabs at the helm
|
| Not many at the helm yet
|
| The desire to kill the misers
|
| We know that France always matches the same ones who swallow
|
| chins
|
| Half Portion
|
| Save who can, save who can
|
| Butt of phew |