Ma France à moi

My France speaks loudly, lives on the edge of dreams,
Lives in groups, talks about the homeland and hates rules,
Skips classes, most of the time just to do nothing,
Plays soccer under the sun often with Coca-Cola in the bottle,
It's hip-hop that makes her dance on the tracks,
Sometimes she enjoys a bit of rock, yeah, if the melody is sad,
She smokes cigarettes and a bit of weed, but never hard drugs,
Heroin, cocaine, and crack equal garbage,
Often at war with the authorities,
Their mechanical vocational diploma won't allow her to be a boss,
So she struggles and sells crap to the rich,
But the crap brings some food back to her mother, yeah.
Because family is love and love is rare
She fights as best she can to keep them away,
She has values, principles, and codes,
She goes to bed at cockcrow because she spends all her nights on the phone.
She seems lazy but deep down, she doesn't waste time,
Some fear her because the media persist in making her a failure,
And if my France values herself, it's of course to rule better,
She internalizes and forbids herself to bleed. No...

{Chorus: x2}
It's not my France, this deep France
The one that shames us and would like us to sink
My France doesn't live in lies
With heart and rage, in the light, not in the shadows

My France speaks in texts, works through chat,
Reconciles via email and meets through MMS,
She moves around on a skateboard, scooter, or in a fast car,
Basile Boli is a legend and Zinedine is her synonym.
Don't believe that we hate her but she lies to us,
Because our parents have been working for 20 years for the same amount,
She gave us wings but the sky is VIP,
No matter what they say, she knows how to run a business.
She lives on American time, KFC, MTV Base,
Foot Locker, McDonald's, and 50 Cent.
She's kids playing basketball at all hours,
Dreaming of being Tony Parker on the Spurs' court,
She's young women managing love,
classes, and troubles,
Listening to Rai, RnB, and Zouk.
My France mixes, yeah, it's a rainbow,
She bothers you, I know, because she doesn't want you as a role model.

{Chorus, x2}

My France has halls and rooms where she locks herself in,
She's funny and Jamel Debbouze could be her brother,
She repaints walls and trains because they're dull,
She enjoys causing trouble because she's pushed to do nothing.
She needs sports and dance to let off steam,
She goes to extremes at the risk of killing herself,
But my France lives, at least she speaks up, at least she laughs,
And refuses to submit to this France that wants us to move.
My France, it's not theirs, the one that votes extreme,
The one that bans young people, anti-rap on the radio,
The one that thinks it's in Texas, the one afraid of our gangs,
The one who worships Sarko, intolerant and annoying.
The one watching Julie Lescaut and missing the time of The Chorus,
Letting the poor die, and putting her own parents in hospice,
No, my France is not theirs celebrating Beaujolais,
And claiming to have been screwed by the arrival of immigrants,
The one reeking of racism but pretending to be open,
This hypocritical France that might be under my window,
The one who thinks the police always did a good job,
The one scratching her balls at the table watching Laurent Gerra,
No, it's not my France, this deep France...
So maybe we disturb, but our values will prevail...
And if we are citizens, then to arms, youth,
My France will stand up to them until they respect us.