Poutine [English translation]

[Couplet unique]

Hey, I'm sedated, I'm smokin' weed in front of Call of Duty

Cause I did my six digits of the month

She didn't even have my dick, that bitch

She even says that she has a kid from me

I have weight on my back, back

And I know the demons are watchin' me

Hand on their ass, we do the dirty

Like your dad, I have so many dark circles

The CRS cars, the idiots in prison

No vacancy, my wife'll have her mink

Fuck your grandma, such is your ambition

For pennies I'll kill bison with my hands

Tell 'em Belek, under the rain bullets, the Harba tselek

My pair of shoes, 940 dollars

For the underage who need parental consent

Bro, even Thai comes from the routine

Let's go taste Chives in Poutine

Fat, I see myself at the beach

The bros that avenge me have their bros hostage

You know that a bullet says the truth, you deserve whatever comes at you

Fuck your mom, I'm a VIP, first class on Emirates

I touch 'em, I steal purple notes

Like Parisians, Marseillais and Lyonnais1

Improved 4.0, it's expected that the acts, there is no point in meowing

I don't fucking care to know if you're good

'Sch' is the rifle, 'rimkus' is the shotgun

Some gaps to fill

I'll leave my heritage, I continue to mate

Far from Buddhas, always a Kishta

I stay away from myths that talk tons about chicas

Chabbar Eddie, it's fucking on the job, there's no credit, credit

Their moms, I'm fed up, I'm comfortable

Kore and Belek is Neymar-Suarez

The projects were designed in Bucharest

Cold, we don't give a fuck about your caresses

No more laziness, let go of the leash

They'll say they threw us off the cliff

We're too brown, you know we fuck 'em

Number one, they'll all have awkwardness

Hey, hey, hey Lacrim

History writes itself and I'm the one with the pen

I fuck 'em, it's the street, there's no philosophy teacher

[Outro]

Whatever we tell you, I'll scold 'em

All my little ones run after the cops

We make money, my bro, I'm prowlin'

You talk about me, you're nothing but a son of...

There are weapons, men who kill for us

I'm at a restaurant, you're making a big difference

There are sons of whores who to would like to see death

I bring my son to Monte Carlo

You know that weapons are better than silence

Too much for the throne, bring back the couch

From money to fame, it's a hallucination

Since every kid is eating cement

1. People from Paris, Marseilles, and Lyon.

• Artist:Lacrim
• Album:Ripro Vol. 2