J't'emmerde

Some call me the cleaner, but I’d rather be the grave digger, 'cause I love stirring up shit,
I stuck my crew before diving into this biz - go, so no need for buddies,
I don't give a damn, I don't give a damn, and I don't give a damn,
And to start off, scratch those who claim to make you dance,
Big-headed, or X without us couldn’t even eat, would slip their tongue in your slit,
To make mixtapes made in France, when you come to party, bring your tired legs,
Hey, you’ve got nothing French left, so mister says “one more time” change your track,
And don’t come saying you know the underground, you’re more about fashion, so action, I don’t give a damn and I don’t give a damn,
Marked with the crew, you’re not Romano, but in a bikini solo,
your dad, a pile of cash, which keeps you from trouble with the cops.
Squats! you’ve got just the smell and nothing of an assassin.
Golden childhood, it’s the hospital mocking charity, shoot up, check yourself in a mirror,
'Cause what you see is disgusting, hey black guy, oops!, you shaved your hair, Babylon
I don’t give a damn, I don’t give a damn and I don’t give a damn,
As for the “narvalos” of the nation,
Leaders on loudspeakers, know that hip-hop,
Isn’t just scribbling on a wall,
And getting played by the cops like a ferret,
F.M.P Bragging Manager by a Whore,
Another shady deal like the B.O.S.S, Organized Boular who Sucks and Snorts,
Authentic on paper, while those two wanted to get into it,
Hey, not everything is that easy, what are you waiting for to set it on fire and burn yourself,
Critique the soup, you need the croutons that go with it, hey, and even if there’s only one who comes out of the bricks,
And the other Tos who’s been hustling for 30 years to sell shit, it happened near your place, yeah my dude,
Right under your nose, money rots people, it’s no longer a feeling
Hey, of course I’m fucking with you, I don’t give a damn, I don’t give a damn, and I don’t give a damn.

Chorus x2:
Play the fools, play the “one more time”, play the idiots, I stay concrete, straight up it’s war,
Play the brave, play the one who knows, ah but you omit the truth about yourself, I know it.

Kossity, rude boy, he needs a slap to understand, this is it, this is it
Big sausage, talks so well about his lookalikes in his songs, a loser, drunk,
And yet he takes the easy way, some have the packaging but not the content,
And what wiggles in your pants is as puny as at “Garbitt”,
I don’t give a damn, I don’t give a damn, and I don’t give a damn,
Honor to the ladies, the tarantula?
No the chainsaw, before giving lessons,
Look at who you made a kid with, but if, and if only you hadn’t dropped your pants to get here,
Hey yeah it’s true that day you didn’t have any, and if, with ifs, unfortunately I’m chopping wood,
I don’t give a damn, twelve, and not a brain, we had to come back, even if it meant collaborating with the other fascist,
I’m giving a special shoutout to you, Pierpoljak,
I can’t sing but I know how to rap
'Cause you’re still tatted up, and here’s the other side of the decor, and the height of racism is to fuck what repulses him.
I don’t give a damn, I fuck you and I don’t give a damn,

Remember the melancholic.
You’re making mashed potatoes, 'cause for a Muslim, you should’ve already changed your name,
It smells like gas, Allah Akbar, the first quality of a Muslim is to be humble, and you’re not,
And know that religion isn’t a sprint, but a long-distance race,
So think of those who’ve practiced for 20 or 40 years, and don’t make a big fuss about it
Notice, they’ve marked it, you won’t be an icon, and if only the supreme being judges,
So the Sky - roulette, sacrilege, Bismillah, I don’t give a damn, I don’t give a damn and I don’t give a damn.

Chorus x2

Booba, Booba, my little bear
And fuck reintegration, not even black, not even rabza,
Just a poorly made egg yolk,
Minefield, you’re shooting off with a popgun, Paris isn’t Top Gun,
Not the loser, I also listen to Polnareff, houhouhouhouhou, and in my bathroom,
I caught your flow, and I fuck to Gilbert Bécaud,
Damn what a bastard rhyme, but, who’s barking like that,
Hey, pretty shy for a pit, a spaniel straight out of the S.P.A,
Hey, you would’ve named yourself Mick Bacardi, that wouldn’t have bothered you, you hit a left, a right,
There it is, here come the super crew, bam bam boogie down, chaka chaka, we understand nothing.
As for the crocs, who stole “I don’t give a damn”, know that I remember the first and not the second,
Tchit Tchit,

I don’t give a damn, syphilis in rap feels weird,
And to tan I think you need a strainer, since I’m not stopping here,
Repeat after me.
Scandalous vibe, pedal dance, feel the heat, in your ass.
Marseille, it stinks, it’s dirty, right? And your street art is pretty clean, puffy jacket in the sun,
And 306 cabs in Paris are obsolete, “street life”, hey, that’s my dude,
Throw your Cinderella from the ghetto on the sidewalk, the Fonky Family is over.
And for the pseudo-independents, all signed to record labels,
S.H.E.R.Y.O, immigrant rap with a good backstory, you might challenge X-Or, which won’t make you a big shot,
King of the scraps and without a rep, your revolution is Virgin, the cash,
We don’t even know if it’s a scrap or a crate, hey you think you’re the center of the world,
When you’re just the asshole, keep improvising,

So many assholes talking about the street,
To believe they’re all homeless, but there aren’t many, in short,
Mc Jean Gab'1, isn’t a whore, remember that well, I told you my dude, tin-tin-tin.