Truth be told this rap game is mundane
as public education, where they dumb the babies,

and the teachers play around, with the future of a god forsaken nation
I know, don’t nobody wanna hear about that,
they rather I close a book and take it back to the trap
I know I’m playin with danger, got me feelin like baby Jesus in the manger
so I make bangers to get them devils up off me
kill em slow, mastered my craft this life fell like I done lived it before
so how i end up at the liquor store again
playin with temptation and it always win in the end
then i end up thinking about the women i players and shoulda did better
its a cold world when karma come around, now I’m mobbing the streets in this weather with a thin sweaterHow you feel about it/ how you feel about her
Gotta let her know 2xI promise I’m in tune, ya’ll the ones trippin
I drop jewel for the goons and the ones living
addicted to that silver spoon out there in the suburbs
where the grass is always green, not the lawn the herb
the ones who realize silence is consent
and honest bout the politics within
the land of the free been thuggin
how u think they at the top
and every pastor got himself a BenzWhere the passion where the struggle where yo story at
where to hustle where yo grind where yo money at?
did u pay dues or did ya let ya self get used for propaganda to guarantee u don’t lose
so many questions, not enough time to answer
is it really a choice tween broke and buying a phantom
not for the kids in the ghetto
down the street from the kids learning cello
wondering where what they eat tonight
too many syrup sandwiches ya’ll think and why they aint thinking right.

Huit janvier de quatre-vingt seize

Le Bon Père est venu matin

M’emmener pour que je la baise

Une catin




Elle a l’œil de basalte gai

De Rimbaud, d’Esther, je ne sais

Je m’en vais lui sonner les cloches

Ce sera fait




Me restera le long chemin

A courir, eh bien, dieu me damne :

Il n’est pas si long, le chemin

Je suis poète, je suis âne !




Huit janvier de quatre-vingt seize

Le Bon Père m’a pardonné

Son crucifix blond, je le baise

Son cul donné




Qui est l’œil de la vie sous terre

De Satan, d’Orphée, Baudelaire

Je m’en vais offrir ma tournée

Tournez, danser !




Nous allons vous le mettre en bouche

Notre poème, enfant qui couche :

Le monde a perdu la raison

Il nous a reniflé le con,

Il nous a reniflé le con !




Elle :




Dansons notre ronde, tournons

Verlaine, ou si tu veux, sortons !

La ville est jolie, c’est l’été :

Sur la place on a tricoté

Des roses de papier crépon




Ouvrons la fenêtre, chantons !

Verlaine, ou si tu veux, causons

La ville est jolie je suis belle

Je suis louve et je suis missel

Ou coquelicot, c’est selon




Verlaine, je m’en vais passer

Sache bien que j’étais la vie

Sache bien que j’étais la vie

Sache bien que j’étais la vie

Ce n’est rien, dis-tu ?

C’est assez