| With one I present to you my pen
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| Life of scoundrel, beware: the best thief does not have a hoodie
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| Even more immature, the decor has several paintings
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| The bedo no longer interests them, the ghetto no longer pays
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| It's not my fault, welcome to the listeners
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| At the time I was doing the same, but without a record distributor
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| Small or maybe still grilled
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| Too easy and fascinated, I chain the titles in a row
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| Beats come in and fired me
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| Becomes manly and varied
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| I sail and live without trusting
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| Find rhymes to marry
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| Beyond the themes here we go
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| It's not my fault
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| I thirst for music, every sound is its fleet
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| I don't ask what you jump or less what you quote me
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| It was bogus, it doesn't matter, I call you "Patrick Timsit"
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| Just stop the hash, it made you paranoid
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| In the back you don't have a knife, we planted a GoPro in you
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| The world is doing too much, the mytho knows every bled
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| His Mexico he visited through Google Earth
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| Alert, there's no problem, no, the neighbor shoots in the air
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| You were right downstairs with the Baader gang
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| No, don't panic Grandpa, put the gun away
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| You see, look at the press, the world blows a fuse
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| Next door there's the jet-set, and the beautiful jacuzzis
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| Where for the money the cousin can fuck the cousin
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| Quiet, did you see Rachid wanted to do some 'zique
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| Making the violins cry, every track is a classic
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| Magical, tragic, build my monuments
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| In the shadows I rubbed myself, but without genius in my lamp
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| So who finds it funny? |
| Say we're all kidding
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| You saw everything is possible, no one followed Tom Cruise
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| The rapper is in Hollywood, he dreams of this
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| Only one movie would make my rap, call me "Untouchables"
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| I push that, nah nah I don't have much choice
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| Alcohol and hash put our brains in a stencil
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| We forgot our dreams, it's a nightmare
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| Stop you don't live in misery, you clipped a shed
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| Fair, maybe, thank you, it's honest
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| I try to keep the thread, not that of a puppet
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| It comes back to the same
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| Old school or new school
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| Thanks to the music, take them off we all get closer
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| We come back to the same, everything is played in the mind
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| Where no holds barred, much like Van Damme did
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| It's the same thing, from Dakar to Moscow
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| I consider that each disc will build me a hosto
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| It comes back to the same, what?
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| It comes back to the same... Problem, problem
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| A few sheaves of words on the soil of misery
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| There's no evolution but only the changing seasons
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| Shit, that's weird, it gives my street when you shuffle
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| It comes back to the same
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| Yes, see you on September 16
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| It comes back to the same
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| The second album… “Les Histoires”… Yes, again?
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| Sète, Montpellier, 34
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| Far from the buzz and the biz', from the system, from their accomplices
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| Far from vice or from their career at twenty centimes
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| Who doesn't do anything without a team, who releases a compilation
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| You've done a hundred titles, but there's just one that we understood
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| Cannabis or rifle, your rhymes don't even have a style
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| But how is this possible? |
| You probably missed the casting
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| Pathetic, everyone clashes, fantastic
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| How to boost sales when bullet holes don't make money
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| The halls are stuffed with syringes, the smell of escalope
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| From Douaize to Spanish 0.9
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| The profit is going round, the commissioner is pissed off
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| Finding the right corner like investing a gamos
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| Calm down, times are hard, I don't teach you anything anymore
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| A advice, bar all that it does you good
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| Big problem, stop with your morals
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| Your rap is just a BFM sponsored newspaper |