Tu Peux Pas Test

You can't test me
You can't test me...
You can't test me
You can't test me...

We’re leaving the ring road, exit at Villette, hit the gas and watch out for the cops at the door
Revenge is a dish best served cold, bro, I’m determined like that kid from Aubervilliers with the hook
Silhouette with a crest, two guys shot up on the corner of a street
Our old grudges are settled thanks to a thousand cubic centimeters
Besides sinking, what’s the point of my brothers' blood?
I found the key to crime under the doormat of misery
The glitter burned under the fires of my rage
The paparazzi of the star system on the drugs and their squad
Autographs at concerts, hustling to survive
Dude, when the bullet whistled, there’s no choice
To get back to the facts, if winter freezes my beans, my summer sky will have
November vibes
The mysteries of an ancient evil that tells me: "no wonder there’s a hole in the
Cash register if I’ve iced the accountant"
My fight is that we never forget that in Africa it’s a mess
There won’t be any rice tonight for the needy families
Tell me how to close my eyes to all this
I have cousins back home who left too soon due to lack of opportunities

I’d like to tell you I have my platinum records
That I have my villas
One in the city
Another in the village
Yeah, I grew up among the addicts
Ivory Coast, Senegal, and Mali

I’d like to tell you I have my platinum records
That I have my villas
One in the city
Another in the village
Yeah, I grew up among the hustlers, the dealers, the Arabs, Morocco, and the
Caribbean

The hood just keeps getting worse
Maybe it’s the devil that’s charmed us
I’ll never forget the suburbs that burned
Maybe this time, my dude, I’ll go vote (no way)

Being wary of your talent is the first step to earning it
If you come to my 93, it’s at your own risk
What’s violent isn’t lasting
A bike noise so that a second later, all I see are
Tears
Crack is wreaking havoc
The perimeter is deadly but fuck it
Sarko makes our lives hell
Whole days in the lobby enriching the corner store owner
I’m not struggling, cousin, thank God I’ve come a long way
The crazies are upset about the shortage of hash
It’s night in our lives even when the sun shines
Burnt place on the central
It’s dead for the pair of Air Max on a T-Max heading to the opera
You’ll pay for it, MC
To me, you’re not saying anything real
The wannabes who flex too much, I think they’re not legit
Original street style, in thug mode
Since the cop is useless, we take it like every time
Dodge if fake brothers want to drag you in
When it’s my time to raid, it’s your time to go work
Heritage of the ghetto, light up your city like a trail of gunpowder
Far from the love groupies of independence tour.