| Notre Dame is watching, the pressure is falling, the night is awakening
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| The same fellows as the day before, dive, seek love, flee oblivion full of gall
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| Some have what it takes to blow up or play the rich guys
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| Just to impress but without a checkbook, it's failure on the chessboard
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| Poorly undermined, there's no chance of charming a charming
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| You have to get rich and quickly even if it means paying dearly
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| An oak tree casts a spell, we throw ourselves or we think
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| Sometimes at the end of the chains there are cannonballs, it is better to go back to bed embittered
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| Here the cops know it, in the cash registers the young people pump the sonograph
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| I am a photographer, develop shots on the phonograph
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| Dream of smacking the squirrel on rue Davso, I'm the bastard
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| The stain of white sauce on a faço
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| Disgusting as life for sure we do tricks on the center
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| The harbs chase and all the robbers run, sure
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| Le Cours Ju', restaurants full to bursting
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| The place of the college and over there the young people are all ready to slam
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| Rogaye, I fly to Mars, without mockery, stay on track
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| And homie never forget we get the dope out of the caves
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| Not having fags on the south side, we ken gratitude
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| Gratitude for the Ford full scuite
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| Marseille at night, makes you think more than that
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| Don't worry soon we'll rob some news
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| The old ones come back at a gallop, gaffe mic-marshmallow
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| Our hard cocks censor here comes the gallop hey
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| Listen to that, long live Europe cousin, I'm on the scratch page
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| Rital full of starches, pasta and heavy lived
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| Hip hop backpacker the street is full of bacon cutters
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| But I stay standing in front of the shop like a Corsican in front of his bar
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| I drag the reputation of Mars on my shoulders
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| These kids who go to the streets, these kids who go to school
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| And those who play the killers, the Flanagans, the spinners
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| IAM is like Michael Jacks on the mic it's Thriller
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| If I spend my time writing, describing my time
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| Rising towards nirvana we seek smiles
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| Montana far from the bandits near the creves
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| Bevtas no more truce, we break your omertas
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| When the sun goes down the pouschk' which turn the mouths close
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| Some rebels go to bed, the notches mesh, touch
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| The bad one regenerates the ember
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| Dose that we never weigh, we spin in English
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| Notre Dame watches, the pressure drops, the night wakes up, the same fellows as the day before
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| Dive in, seek love, flee oblivion full of gall
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| Some have what it takes to blow up or play the rich guys
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| History to impress but without checkbook it is the failure on the chessboard
|
| Poorly undermined, there's no chance of charming a charming
|
| You have to get rich and quickly even if it means paying dearly
|
| An oak tree casts a spell, we throw ourselves or we think
|
| Sometimes at the end of the chains there are cannonballs, it is better to go back to bed embittered
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| Luck, we work it, think, so much the movement
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| And dance during the day, in the evening it's not the same batch
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| Cousin the kids roll out, at my house, point their elbows high, crossed
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| Watch out for the whores hidden under the crusader
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| Nothing insignificant, everything is done quietly, we are all chauvinists
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| The one who knows, I give you a boss
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| I come out of the bush, now I pull my thumb to mine
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| MDLR brother, that's what pushes me
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| Shady on our attitudes, yours far from fullness
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| In full study, out of there, life becomes tough
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| Here are the guys from a well-established team, united like the band at Baader
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| Drunk at Selecto, faithful to Kader's chicken
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| I work with night owls like Carré Rouge
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| From the hut we move late, we eat late, around there are no mouftards
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| 5.35 panes down
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| In case of petou the district quickly finds itself at the bottom
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| I was hanging out with François in the turf brother
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| Belsunce the CHILL night since the days of brother smurf
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| Too much hash, too much hash at night, too much skin, you fear, you punish
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| Too many united beats on Mars, we smile
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| In the street my friend every step has its importance
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| Think luck isn't always there in the cave the picture dives, like our brothers dive into a trance for a wad of cash
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| My verses are fat
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| I change the step of life into a fat sound
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| My safety, we start counting in ecus |
| At the mic it's chill's from home for ragga
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| While I'm rapping, my friends capture estoufaga prey
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| They squint on me squint like zofine, this city is like a sing sing
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| I have taught times that minds full of nothingness
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| But when you think about it, son, there are too many traces, there's too much dirt
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| But too much space plunges into the flow, breaststroke casting the summer too classy
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| Quiet cousin hut minute
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| A glass of pinion tea in my hand, I'm counting the minutes
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| And I'm bored
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| Notre Dame is watching, the pressure is falling, the night is awakening
|
| The same fellows as the day before, dive, seek love, flee oblivion full of gall
|
| Some have what it takes to blow up or play the rich guys
|
| Just to impress but without a checkbook, it's failure on the chessboard
|
| Poorly undermined, there's no chance of charming a charming
|
| You have to get rich and quickly even if it means paying dearly
|
| An oak tree casts a spell, we throw ourselves or we think
|
| Sometimes at the end of the chains there are cannonballs, it is better to go back to bed embittered
|
| Caught in the gears of rage for my friends
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| Man never forget we come out of the caves
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| This is for our street brothers
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| All the neighborhoods of Mars is IAM
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| Always There Imperial Asian Men Man
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| Always there we persist
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| A puzzle |