| Hey oh! |
| You there, yeah!
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| Come see please!
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| Come on come on man, come on come on over here
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| Where to meet a cop well it becomes extremely rare
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| Have you seen the bruises they make you see all the colors
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| There's no trace but you understand your pain
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| They might not accuse you if you look like a toubab
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| But if you're arab or black in their eyes you'll be guilty
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| Skin white as paraffin, facho than forties
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| Who on the weekend hunts the Arab with a rifle
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| We know it, officer, the business, even in winter it's hot
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| Not seen not taken, we bend if we get caught
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| And it is sure that with the old Nico laws
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| We're all gonna take a trip to the comico
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| Blacks and bicots, put away the tracksuits, put down the cap
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| Get the crocs out of your knitwear
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| It's shit and yet that's where I live
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| Where the cop wants to finish me off, aim for my head, not my ankles
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| This is our investigation, because we see too many things
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| Here it's very dry because they are jealous of the box and the shoes
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| And they take us for losers
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| Seems we scare the elders
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| Young child of misery, yeah!
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| Victim of tragic car chases
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| But what can I say except that France is freaking out and the file remains without
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| after?
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| But hey, we always ask ourselves the same questions
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| Without answers obviously since we are scrambled all our opinions
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| In Bezbar the good life you can't see it
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| If you don't have all your head and knowledge it's to believe it
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| We don't trust just anyone
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| Neither the kepi, of Villepin or Sarkozy
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| Here it's shit, it's hami a sahbi
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| Even vile Titus thinks he's Starsky
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| And we persist, the rage and the seum
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| The street on the beat is our investigation
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| S.h.o leads the investigation
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| I make the difference between narcotics and the kepis that annoy you
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| Each his taf after all mine I know him
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| I came with my staff
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| So don't try to do it upside down
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| Conscience better have it clear
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| Turn on your fog lights
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| 'Cause when the civilians fart the world gets cowardly
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| Nothing but fags!
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| It's because you did nothing that you deserve the red card
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| People watch but no one moves
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| Don't take too many risks or you'll go to jail kid
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| Outside it tracks, communicates on the walkie-talkie
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| "Silence please or I'll clear the room, defendant stand up!
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| After deliberating, the High Court of Paris declares Foto
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| guilty and sentences you to 6 years in prison!''
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| The stars twinkle behind these fucking bars
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| It's sad but this moment I appreciate my first puff on a garo
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| Tonight I'm not sleeping and it's heavy
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| I canteen the sleep and they answered me "insufficient savings"
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| In my cell I spin around and pace
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| I roll a fart, I open the window so that the prison guard doesn't feel it
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| I lie down, I turn on the TV I think it's time for the soap opera
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| Belek there is a sound of keys, a supervisor at the peephole
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| Locked up 22 hours a day, between them and me it's war
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| Don't worry I have the potato, (4 months at the mitard was enough?), their mothers!
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| Like puppets it is by the tip of the nose that they lead us
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| Over prison population and living conditions are inhumane
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| Me, I'm not tattooed and I don't have any plans to go out
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| But how do I tell you that for respect I'm ready to fuck you?
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| I rank with my head held high in front of the officers, their sarcastic humor
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| Not in the mood, it's going to end up on your head with a plastic bag
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| '' When the police arrive, Bruno the captain, raises his voice
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| "Listen to me, you're talking to me again, I'm taking you apart
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| mouth okay? |
| you understood? |
| There I believe you will understand better…''
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| Where I come from we try hard to get well
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| We make our mark when the cops stick us in the ass like a 501
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| Without effort we are consistent, in our approach we stand out
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| Help each other, chat, over here, mistakes are paid for in cash
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| Ambitious sometimes vicious like the survival instinct
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| Don't want to spend the holidays in front of the bowl in Fleury
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| Don't want to take life like a knife
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| I have lines re-du like the pe-do for those who want to fuck the gosto
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| We organize, create our own biz, we are despised to the point
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| Let us allow ourselves a few more clarifications
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| Often I have dark thoughts, like the dark alleys of my neighborhood
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| My trusty shadow solo partner, my mostard
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| Tricard thugs of Bezbar please!
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| Which gives a strange color to my verses
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| You don't understand we are fucking snipers on beat
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| Why are you shouting Sarkozy? |
| Why are you freaking out?
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| Want to recruit, add more cops?
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| They'll just be more Hulla Hoop on my dick
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| We've been non-stop Hip Hop since we listened to anything but pop
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| We nail the beaks and hit the black block
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| Want to recruit, add more cops?
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| They'll just be more Hulla Hoop on my dick |