lirik lagu a deux pas du périph (en anglais) – sinik
[intro]
six*o*nine 2005
s.i.n.i.k malsain the assassin
yoni, néochrome, les freres mezagua
les ulis 2 6 hall
yeah
[verse 1]
in paris sh*t hits the fan, the sh*ll casings fall in bursts
you can get your photo taken by a groupie or the cctv
the ambulances wake us up, they transport me
suicidal people are happy when they visit the eiffel tower
my bro, we are dangerous like a pitbull with no muzzle
in paris it’s violence, it’s music not museums
the cops harass you, the feedback of the microphones
the river seine is full of corpses, you can go looking
i could say that we’ve got the hottest sl*ts
most of our identities are masked by blocked numbers
a tragic setting, imagine our supporters told you
paris is magic, when i’m away from home i feel sick
because i’m proud to have been born two steps from the edge
s.i.n.i.k malsain the assassin, six*o*nine
néochrome 2005, 91 essonne, les ulis zone, yo yo yo
[verse 2]
i smoke weed when i’m bored, i write, i run away
it’s difficult but i escape, i bury myself but i don’t care
treated as crooks, judged by default
sad times: in 2005 coluche still feeds the poor
i admire the street through my f*cked up eyes
you sons of b*tches abandoned me
don’t live a life like mine
lost in my drafts, i read the sh*t i scribbled out
i don’t give a f*ck about literature
in the moonlight, i look at the details of the gun
i compare an adult’s life to conflict
i’ll never give a f*ck about what they say
my style is more like k!ll bill not will smith
i reflected in prison, then i chose silence
when i understood that i was misunderstood
i get nicked every time, with or without mr vergès
because i’ve smoked more pigs than merguez
pressure shots, the inspectors are oppressors
in paris, the sky is fluorescent grey
smoking a joint, a glass of fruit vodka
sh*t goes bad, the shootings get worse
that broken look, taken out by a fat blunt
locked away because i f*ck society
in the parking lot sh*t gets chaotic
i murdered mcs everywhere whilst smoking 25 joints per day
i said to the police commissioner of ulis
“give me my props or i’ll carve a nike tick into your forehead”
tainted like cantat, sl!ck like a flat screen
a big heart, full of hatred, the high class
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