Ma rue

My street's packed with vices,
To each their own delights, to each their 8.6.
In my street, the guys shake hands,
It's not like in showbiz, where dudes kiss ass.
In my street, the Chinese help each other out,
The Jews are having a blast and hitting the shops,
And all the guys are smoking the same joints.
In my street, it's a pub for Benetton,
And everyone’s blasting the same sound,
Eating kosher or sausage.
In my street, I’m chillin’, walking easy through the town,
Dodging the cops and keeping my style on lock.
To each their suburb, I love mine,
And it’s called the 18th.
In my street, to communicate you gotta be trilingual,
And watch your step when you walk on syringes,
Watch out for the crazies, pulling out their guns.
In my street, the hookers are hooked on crack,
The firefighters wake them up with slaps.
No one wants to try mouth-to-mouth,
The homeless slip away, avoiding the shower.
In my street, the Greek food vendor wants to poison us,
His meat’s sketchy, his oil’s expired.
Like me, the grocer shops at ED,
He sells me the same stuff I buy in the afternoon,
Four or five times more at night.
In my street, it’s theft, it’s rape,
But what do you want, to each their suburb,
I love mine and it’s called...
Porte de la Chapelle, or the terminus,
Everyone gets off, stays or catches their bus.
Welcome to my street where the grime sticks to your feet
On the sidewalk like glue.
Welcome to my street, where pigeons die in the gutter,
From eating the junk of junkies.
In my street, as many cops as cheated guys.
The barber tells jokes to the dealer,
The cops give hideouts to the thieves,
The mailman helps the pimp check the meters.
I was elected president of my street,
I placed my ministers, everyone’s corrupt.
To each their suburb, I love mine,
And it’s called the 18th.