| I talk about everything, my city
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| Troubles, descents in the neighborhood
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| She drives me crazy, she wants to hug me
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| I give her a kiss, the little girl wants to kiss me
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| And yeah el couz', listen
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| One day it's the twelve, one day it's the knife
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| We went around, around the neighborhoods
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| There are good ones, putos
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| He took a hit, he said I changed
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| Don't forget that you were on the ground, who made you eat?
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| All this pisses me off, they all come back
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| For Golf 7R, Philipp Plein and Gucci
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| I don't care
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| You talk about me, I don't care
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| You want to know my life, I don't care
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| Pétou, bélé, I don't care
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| You're no longer my friend, I don't care
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| I don't care
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| Do one of the fifty my mind is elsewhere
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| Let them talk-l-l
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| You want his happiness he wants your misfortune
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| I'm with Bil-K farted
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| It doesn't take long to write a text
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| We are quail-ra à la muerte
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| It'll be bang-bang-bang in not long
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| Even if you're not happy
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| I tell you again, we don't have your time
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| It's not blank bullets
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| Bang-bang-bang I'm under Ballantine
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| And not long ago
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| Ding-dong at your door they kicked you out
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| The miss sticks to your body
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| She stung you when you saw her dancing
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| I don't care
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| You talk about me, I don't care
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| You want to know my life, I don't care
|
| Pétou, bélé, I don't care
|
| You're no longer my friend, I don't care
|
| I don't care
|
| Do one of the fifty my mind is elsewhere
|
| Let them talk-l-l
|
| You want his happiness he wants your misfortune |