Mocro Mafia (part. Maes)
Dave
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Arty
E-E-Elle est loin l'époque où j'cachais les kilos d'pilon dans les phares arrières de la Clio 2
Faut l'agrafer, emballer la beuh, y a d'la bonne frappe, qui en veut?
Aucun trou, comme un expert, j'compte, l'agresseur finira à l'hosto, ça c'est l'vrai comble
Personne parle, que des vraies tombes, ils croient qu'ils pеuvent, c'est des vrais cons
Numéro uno, qui l'prétеnd? En hiver, j'récup' le pollen, j'tombe au printemps
J'ai connu bicrave à plein temps et des autres qui faisaient les chauds mais qu'ont plainté
Pa-Pa-Pas content si ça fait platine, au pire des cas, j'irais soulever le plus plâtré
Chaussée humide, pneus qui patinent, c'est ton pote qui finit par terre
Pour tout avoir, faut être prêt à tout perdre (tout)
Ces faux voyous manquent pas d'toupet (tout)
Mes reufs tournent comme des toupies (tout)
Jamais on change d'vant les groupies (groupies)
Pour tout avoir, faut être prêt à tout perdre (tout)
Ces faux voyous manquent pas d'toupet (tout)
Mes reufs tournent comme des toupies (tout)
Jamais on change d'vant les groupies (groupies)
Et de la perte, j'm'éloigne
J'rêvais qu'un jour mes plaies se soignent
Nouvelle technologie, nouveau Uzi, nouvelle horlogerie
Trop d'perte, j'rêvais qu'un jour mes plaies se soignent
Nouvelle technologie, nouveau Uzi, nouvelle horlogerie
Je fais la moolah pour ma mère, pour lwalida
Maghreb, Mocro, smoke shit, Côte d'Ivoire
C'est pas la rue, la vraie, tu connais pas la capitale
C'est pas la rue, la vraie, tu connais pas les criminals
Numéro un, non parlo bene italien
Mi han trovato una Beretta, fra', ma non le altre tre
Dodici anni: una panetta, tredici anni: un chilo e me'
Quindici anni ai più grandi, lei la vendevo a ton père, eh
Eh, no 3chiri, no khawa, dar beda casa bedawa
Sel3a, ketama, Mo-Momo che impenna in Yamaha
Calibro .9 da Taha, click, clack, bang
Chiedono solo di Baby Gang
Non so se tu mi hai capito, understand?
Cinque negri sopra a un Range
3azzy, balala, balala, o tu gli spari o ti spara
Porto proiettili in bara come 50 Ce–
Co-Come 50, no lifting, rapper del cazzo, son king, king
Piacciono i dindi più di quanto amo i rischi
Tu che mi fai mezzo dissing
So quanti peli nella figa della tua tipa
Quanti tatuaggi e quanti piercing
Non ti atteggiare, ti facciamo bling, bling
Non ti atteggiare, ti facciamo (pow, pow, pow, pow)
Et de la perte, j'm'éloigne
J'rêvais qu'un jour mes plaies se soignent
Nouvelle technologie, nouveau Uzi, nouvelle horlogerie
Trop d'perte, j'rêvais qu'un jour mes plaies se soignent
Nouvelle technologie, nouveau Uzi, nouvelle horlogerie
Mocro Mafia (feat. Maes)
Dave
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Eh, eh, eh, eh
Arty
She's far away from the time when I hid the kilos of pills in the rear lights of the Clio 2
Gotta staple it, wrap the weed, there's good stuff, who wants some?
No holes, like an expert, I count, the aggressor will end up in the hospital, that's the real irony
No one talks, only real graves, they think they can, they're real idiots
Number one, who claims it? In winter, I collect the pollen, I fall in spring
I've known full-time dealing and others who acted tough but ended up whining
Not happy if it goes platinum, worst case, I'll go lift the most plastered
Wet road, tires skidding, it's your buddy who ends up on the ground
To have everything, you have to be ready to lose everything (everything)
These fake thugs are not lacking in audacity (everything)
My brothers spin like tops (everything)
We never change in front of groupies (groupies)
To have everything, you have to be ready to lose everything (everything)
These fake thugs are not lacking in audacity (everything)
My brothers spin like tops (everything)
We never change in front of groupies (groupies)
And I move away from the loss
I dreamed that one day my wounds would heal
New technology, new Uzi, new watchmaking
Too much loss, I dreamed that one day my wounds would heal
New technology, new Uzi, new watchmaking
I make money for my mother, for my mother
Maghreb, Mocro, smoke shit, Ivory Coast
It's not the street, the real one, you don't know the capital
It's not the street, the real one, you don't know the criminals
Number one, I don't speak Italian well
They found me a Beretta, bro, but not the other three
Twelve years old: a bun, thirteen years old: a kilo and a half
Fifteen years old to the older ones, I sold it to your father, eh
Eh, no 3chiri, no khawa, dar beda casa bedawa
Sel3a, ketama, Mo-Momo that pops wheelies on Yamaha
Caliber .9 from Taha, click, clack, bang
They only ask for Baby Gang
I don't know if you understood me, understand?
Five niggas on a Range
3azzy, balala, balala, either you shoot them or they shoot you
I carry bullets in a coffin like 50 Cent
Like 50, no lifting, fucking rapper, I'm king, king
I like money more than I love risks
You half-dissing me
I know how many hairs in your girl's pussy
How many tattoos and how many piercings
Don't act up, we'll make you bling, bling
Don't act up, we'll make you (pow, pow, pow, pow)
And I move away from the loss
I dreamed that one day my wounds would heal
New technology, new Uzi, new watchmaking
Too much loss, I dreamed that one day my wounds would heal
New technology, new Uzi, new watchmaking