Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Quand Ils Rentraient Chez Eux, artist - IAM. Album song Anthologie IAM 2008, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 19.06.2008
Record label: Capitol
Song language: French
Quand Ils Rentraient Chez Eux(original) |
Quoi d’plus solitaire, qu’avoir l’destin comme pre, l’mal comme compre |
Quoi faire part s’taire, quand la mort t’guette sur l’asphalte |
Les pieds sur terre, les yeux rivs sur les autres, quand ils rentraient |
Moi j’tais, aux mmes endroits fixs, la tte dans les toiles, et Fallait-la voir, cette putain d’toile, irrelle que f’sait ma vie |
La principale, celle qui s’trouve dans la rue, hlas la spirale |
Celle qui t’mne vers l’gouffre, ou droit vers l’univers carcral |
O les gosses, s’perdent o pour la plupart des mes souffrent, o les lames |
s’ouvrent |
O on t’prouve, qu’seule la force t’couvre, et qu’les faibles crvent |
Dans c’milieu, fallait pas tre prt, mais dtermin sans trve |
Quand ils rentraient chez eux, j’trouvais qu’ils trahissaient la cause ouais |
Pour moi y’avait pas d’pause, on tait l, fallait occuper l’terrain |
Quand ils rentraient chez eux, la force, vire la haine, celle qui cerne |
Berne, les proies ternes, qui s’perdaient, dans nos ruelles |
O rgne l’cruel, l’ring des duels, l’truc habituel |
Sauf qu’l, on voulait surtout pas qu’nos coeurs s’glent, Mam’zelle |
Malgr tout, on vivait peut-tre mieux qu’ceux qu’avaient tout |
On riait au maximum, sachant qu’on avanait dans l’flou |
C’tait l’but, pas crever, vivre, dire qu’on existe, mme ivres |
Ma main libre, livre ma fibre, quand nos coeurs vibrent |
Cible, la mme chose, Rh, ma passion la zik |
L’motion, chez nous, a jamais t basique |
Quand ils rentraient chez eux, j’avais toujours d’ct une p’tite larme |
L’fait d’avoir grandi, sans pre ni mre, m’a fait couler trop d’grammes |
Toujours de ceux qui restaient au sol colls, dans le dcor |
Comme ces bancs, devant l’ocan bant |
100 fois le monde fut refait rves conqurants |
Les pieds dedans on luttait vaillamment |
A l’heure o les autres rentraient les survivants |
Errer dehors cherchant la clef des champs |
Les nuages chevauchant, l’espoir s’accrochant; |
Malgr a, on riait frquemment |
Sous le lampadaire, a chambrait mchamment |
Inconscients, peut-tre, alors que dj du son, nous tions les amants |
Le principal soucis, c’tait pas de manger dcemment |
J’rentrais doucement, c’t’heure tardive, quand le soleil chassait la nuit |
Rempli d’exploits dans cet’jungle, o tous les jours j’chassais l’ennui sur les |
Marches, des heures sur le derche, blotti sur une seule barre de mtal |
Misre mentale, 10 balles en poche avec une Marlboro Light |
Moi, j’chiale pas, je relate, c’tait pas l’ghetto, mais que pouvais-je |
Esprer d’mieux, en quittant l’domicile de mon pre si tt Ma mre croyait qu’j’trainais dans l’mtro, faisant la manche |
Mais j’comptais les minutes ma montre, et tous ces putains d’jours c’tait |
Dimanche |
Comme quand j’retirais l’huile, sur mes lvres, de mon revers de manche |
Regrettant les repas d’Man, quand j’tais mme, devant mon verre de menthe |
Ouais timide, facilement vert de honte, cet air me hante |
C’est bte comme on en arrive har ces petits cons pleins d’chance |
Quand ils rentraient chez eux, l’assiette fumait la maison |
J’fumais des bongs draison, dernier con rester assis sur l’banc |
Prsent chaque saison, rimes magistrales, forges l o l’homme |
Se forge, affrontant l’froid glacial en parka les nuits de mistral |
La tte dans les toiles, mes couteurs, crachaient l’son d’Marley Marl |
J’voulais m’faire la malle, sentiments poss sur un carnet sale |
A force de lire, j’compris qu’Dieu n’a d’gal, j’tais dans l’noir |
Et savoir que personne tendrait la main pour m’en sortir m’a fait mal |
Quand ils rentraient sur le palier laissant soucis et crasses |
J’suis rest l subir, jusqu' c’que mon propre thorax m’crase |
Comme quoi, le silence de la douleur est parfois bien plus fort que le bruit de la rage |
Toujours de ceux qui restaient au sol colls, dans le dcor |
Comme ces bancs matre sant |
C’trottoir a vu natre un nombre d’MC consquents |
Une grappe de persistants |
Peu peu s’forgeant l’heure o d’autres patientaient leur repas |
S’rchauffant, nous on parlait au vent |
Les nuages chevauchant |
L’estomac rugissant |
La musique mrissant |
Nos rves se dressant vers le firmament |
C’est pas qu’on voulait fuir maman |
Mais ce truc, on y tenait fermement |
Ca nous a fait grandir, patiemment mrir |
L’envie de dire |
Commencer s’languir |
(translation) |
What could be more lonely than having destiny as a father, evil as understanding |
What to do to keep quiet, when death awaits you on the asphalt |
Feet on the ground, eyes riveted on the others, when they returned |
Me, I was, in the same fixed places, my head in the stars, and Was it necessary to see it, this fucking star, unreal that my life makes |
The main one, the one in the street, alas the spiral |
The one that takes you to the abyss, or straight to the prison universe |
O the kids get lost where most souls suffer, where the blades |
open |
Where you are tested, only strength covers you, and the weak die |
In this environment, you shouldn't be ready, but relentlessly determined |
When they came home, I thought they betrayed the cause yeah |
For me there was no break, we were there, we had to occupy the field |
When they returned home, the force, turns the hatred, that which surrounds |
Bern, the dull prey, which got lost, in our alleys |
O rgne the cruel, the ring of duels, the usual thing |
Except that, above all, we didn't want our hearts to go wrong, Mam'zelle |
Despite everything, maybe we lived better than those who had everything |
We laughed to the fullest, knowing that we were moving forward in the blur |
That was the goal, not to die, to live, to say that we exist, even drunk |
My free hand, deliver my fiber, when our hearts vibrate |
Target, the same thing, Rh, my passion the zik |
Emotion, with us, has never been basic |
When they came home, I always had a little tear on my side |
The fact of having grown up, without a father or a mother, made me sink too many grams |
Always of those who remained on the ground glued, in the decor |
Like these benches, in front of the bant ocean |
100 times the world was remade conquering dreams |
Feet in we fought valiantly |
As the others returned the survivors |
Wander outside seeking the key to the fields |
Clouds riding, hope clinging; |
Despite that, we laughed frequently |
Beneath the lamppost, it was chambering wickedly |
Unconscious, perhaps, when already sound, we were the lovers |
The main concern was not to eat decently |
I was coming home slowly, it's late hour, when the sun chased away the night |
Filled with exploits in this jungle, where every day I hunted boredom on the |
Steps, hours on the derche, huddled on a single metal bar |
Mental misery, 10 in the pocket with a Marlboro Light |
Me, I don't cry, I relate, it wasn't the ghetto, but what could I |
Hoping for better, leaving my father's house so soon My mother thought I was hanging out in the subway, begging |
But I was counting the minutes on my watch, and all those fucking days it was |
Sunday |
Like when I removed the oil, on my lips, from my cuff |
Regretting the meals of Man, when I was even, in front of my glass of mint |
Yeah shy, easily green with shame, that look haunts me |
It's silly how it comes to these lucky little cunts |
When they got home the plate smoked the house |
I was smoking bongs draison, last idiot to stay seated on the bench |
Present every season, masterful rhymes, forged where man |
Is forged, facing the freezing cold in a parka on mistral nights |
Head in the stars, my headphones, spitting the sound of Marley Marl |
I wanted to make the trunk, feelings poss on a dirty notebook |
By dint of reading, I understood that God has no equal, I was in the dark |
And knowing that no one would reach out to get me out hurt me |
When they came back on the landing leaving worries and grime |
I stayed there to suffer, until my own chest crushed me |
Like what, the silence of pain is sometimes much louder than the sound of rage |
Always of those who remained on the ground glued, in the decor |
Like these master health benches |
This sidewalk has seen the birth of a number of substantial MCs |
A Cluster of Persistent |
Gradually forging the time when others waited for their meal |
Warming up, we were talking to the wind |
The clouds riding |
The roaring stomach |
The music grows |
Our dreams rising to the firmament |
It's not that we wanted to run away from mom |
But this stuff, we held on tight |
It made us grow, patiently mature |
The urge to say |
start to yearn |