Candidat Libre [English translation]

I had a notion to comb the small ads

To find myself a part-time job in the midst of a recession

To alleviate my lack of finance while

Extending my contractor’s benefit entitlement

But my CV is lightweight, I’m a low-calorie spread

Empty luggage like a post-abortive womb I’ve

Written forests of personal statements

But it doesn’t take long to get from the emotive to the impulsive

Faced with their mantras

Apart from rap, I only know how to rap

I’ve never scratched

Shined the shoes of a middle manager

Still I mark the job offers with a highlighter pen

Soon I’ll be grafting for some gaffer

When the casting page of my broadsheet

Informs me that a big producer needs a rapper

Career, and shared royalties contract

For the most highly motivated candidate, yeah!

I’ve got every chance, I’ve got independence credits

And this year I’ve toured more than all the groups in France

I’ve shaken thousands of hands exchanged thousands of looks

And repeated a thousand times may the peace of God be upon you

So, at the last chance audition

I’ll present myself as the latest trend

An explosive MC with lyrics written in fire

Half politico, half raging hardcore

It’s D-Day

And a few yards away from the panel

I write a few rhymes

To impress their ears

That works a trick, which began with an ace:

“I need a Bic, a beat, and a big fat bass”

The room is full of contenders

Veterans of the waves and the independent scene

All revising their words readjusting their flow

With the latest high-fashion gear on their backs

I’ve put on my Nikes and my jogging suit

The keffiyeh I got free from the brothers at Gaza Team

Médine, candidate 11 thousand 01

Gets ready and goes back into the exam hall

Good morning members of the jury

I’ve got a few wordplays without swearwords which may entertain you

I’ve played them to all the people in my jungle

Praise and encouragement I got from my monkeys

There are so many messages so let’s rap with no further ado

Before my chain starts to sag

I’ve got verses to suit every taste

What do you want as a preview?

A little Shakur style 16?

Right then

OK here goes

I rap with closed eyes, open heart

Fists clenched, mouth open

Not holding back, but almost open

Not surly, but just the opposite

I’m rapping for the second class citizens

The ones who have nothing, the ones who lose out

The ones who get no breaks, and all those you put away

[Verse 3]

What? I’d never want to be a community activist

Any more than a sixties black guy on a Lit degree course

Forced to admit that your cancer has no cure

I’d never shoot my plans on your comet

I wish Addison’s disease on all of you

Speeches and origins are the barriers I’m adding up

And then I don’t even know why I still audition for swede-bashers who search our albums for potential line-dance singles

Straight out of business school

You stink of hang-ups not comfortable in your skin with your Converses on

Don’t go making me pay for what you went through before

In your respective lesson breaks

Rap is ours

It belongs to Men not the nobility

It’s not neutral and part of the furniture

And it’s certainly not a skewerful of monkeys

Teaching me sound while parked in a Louis Quinze chair

Call Security before I jump out of my seat

So you get my middle class fist in your face

My middle kick in your slice of fruitcake

You music video bunglers and cheque pocketers

You want mainstream, you want summer hits

The only hit I’d get you dancing to would be from a sawn-off shotgun

You white settlers, condescending, wrapped up in your own egos

I’ll blow your house down one records at a time like on the Home Improvement channel

I don’t belong to any generation

Since Sky became less political than Comedy Radio

My opening

Is back in its burka now all the ‘just becauses’ in the world don’t answer my whys…

I started rap for the same reasons which drove me to refuse to go and graft for a two-bit crooked boss

A dead-end day-to-day, it’s virtual slavery

10 years later I’m facing the same consequences

But this time if on my own discipline

Having to tug my forelock and grovel to do my own job

So advise myself and future teams

Refuse the proffered hand and act like the dog beaten too long who growls even when he gets a friendly stroke

Let’s get organized, in a group, a collective, an association, who cares, as long as it comes from ourselves, as long as the initiative comes from ourselves

And let’s not leave the key to rap with the power-mad degenerates, who make our careers a talking point

That’s Arabian Panther’s word!

• Artist:Médine