Iam Demain Cest Loin English Translation song by Genius English Translations from Primary Album Iam-lecole-du-micro-dargent-english-translation. The music is composed and produced by Joel. Genre is Conscious Hip-Hop, Rap, France music. The Record company is unknown. Released on March 18, 1997.
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Iam Demain Cest Loin English Translation Meaning
| [[Verse 1: Shurik’N] The ink flows, the blood spills, the blotting paper Soaks up emotion, bagful of images in my memory I talk about what my people live and what I see Men drowning in despair, drifting away Men who destroy each other for F20,000 worth of hash I’m talking ‘bout my daily life, listen close, my words won’t make you laugh Laugh, smile, some have lost theirs, thinking ’bout Momo Who told me, “See you later;” never to be seen again Courting the Devil to escape the struggle, you made it, brother! But it’s still poverty for those pushing on behind you Pushing, growing in the middle of a concrete field Growing up in a parking lot, watching the big brothers bring home the cash Poverty makes you think hard, within a blink of an eye We cut it, we press it, we chop it up, we bag it up, we sell it Non-stop, we reap the crack money Yeah, that’s life and don’t talk about welfare here, here Here, everyone dreams of a GTI Golf and a Tacchini tracksuit Picking up women like Manny from Scarface, I enjoyed watching it like everyone else Thank God I grew up, I’m smarter, he just dies at the end The end, the hunger, the hunger justifies the means: four, five little misdeeds And we hold on ‘til tomorrow, then we’ll see what happens We walk in the shadow of Evil from dusk ‘til dawn Lurking in a corner, knife in hand, outlaws on dirt paths Path, path, there aren’t two to become a god Pounded on like an anvil, don’t look down, the envious always want a slice One way in, two ways out, three-quarter length leather jacket Succeed, fade, become a memory Memories, of being so young, an entire phonebook Of guys wiped off the map like a blackboard, Pow! Darkness Believe in who? In what? These guys are all mirrors Going in the same direction, trying to fill up their drawers Drawer, you live your life in one, you end up in one Before you go to Hell on Earth, we build our own Heaven Fiction, the delusion is too strong, get out some weed Reality hits too hard, need to escape Escape, escape, use your imagination, here all is gray The walls, the minds, the rats at night We all want to escape this prison, a needle goes around, time for action False diversion, one day you blow your fuse Lead, a lucky few have some in their brains Others shoot it at each other for a fistful of cash, brothers at war Weapons grow like weeds The image of the gangsta spreads like gangrene sowing seeds Seeds, seeds, seeds of delinquents, what were you hoping for? From the youngest age, they are taught that nothing makes a man except francs From the discreet franc-tireur to the organized gang, the root turns into a field Too big to be stopped Arrested, unlucky on the way in, lucky on the way out You get three months, the rumor spreads, the rep grows bigger The steel bars scare no one anymore, that’s the routine, a common thorn A fine sketch with Chinese ink, a figurine that every so often comes to life Life, living for a vicious appetite for money Night falls, no matter the weather, we roll the dice, we must play with fire Win or lose, come back with a couple more bills Whatever helps, no one will ask where from where came your windfall Whether you fall or not, for all or nothing, we take the chance, no big deal, cousin In either case, we’ll be fine To live like a dog or a prince? It’s no contest We’ve made our choice, grill the lamb, flaunt the jewels Jewels, a dream, the pockets are full but the target is far away, the arrow Ricochets, the Devil adds an ugly notch, the guys tick Their own box, shoot for the cash, I hear the bells ring like sounds of the pickaxe Digging a hole is too easy Easy-peasy, easy as taking a cowardly rich man’s jacket, every grandma’s nightmare And porcelain through the windshield Clack! Razor to the purse, here comes the cash And that’s all day, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow Tomorrow? That’s not the problem, we live day to day We can’t waste time or we’ll lose money, others will take it Tomorrow is far away, there’s no rush, slowly but surely We move forward while watching our asses so we can talk about the future Future, the future won’t change a thing, the next generations Will be worse off than us, their lives will be bleaker Our future is the next minute, the goal: anticipate it Predict it before you get nailed Nailed, nailed to a bench, nothing else to do so we drink beer We whistle at hoochies with no brothers The walls hold us back like flypaper Here we are, we’ll never get out, Satan holds us back with his pitchfork Fork, like forks stacking up the risks second after second Every incident is another stone for our slings Against their lasers, some lose hope, many fall to the ground The stubborn refuse a suicidal fight Fight, fighting disbelief, the Gods watch Man head towards the wrong Side of eternity with a firm, steady gait Preferring to wander around down here, for he would be bored as fuck up there Only on this side do angels sell something to smoke Smoke, another toke, the veil has fallen Head on the pillow, for a moment all the shit fades away Through the window enters a scream, a man is getting mugged A kid is getting arrested, for a Cartier, handcuffed Handcuffed, feet and fists bound by fate Imprisoned in the donjon, destined for the jail cell The turf, the arena, we grew up with the games Brave gladiators but life is tough so we wrestle the best we can , [Verse 2: Akhenaton] In high-rise buildings Misunderstandings, gangs of kids calling themselves badboys Friction, excitement, undercover cops on patrol Useless paranoia, foolish myths and legends Hashish by the kilo, poets armed with pens Stockpiles of creativity, warehouses, silos They take off to Block 20, pack of Heineken in hand Lighting up a big joint to forget African princesses, teen moms, plastic bags Full of glue, psychotic hordes of ghetto youth The black market, squad solid as a rock Little Dons tightly controlling their drug spots We pop the Veuve Cliquot, crowded like Mexico City Cemented horizons, pickpockets, drug addicts Honest people ignored, supercops, Zorros Politicians and journalists visiting the zoo Respectful Muslims, humble family men Stereos that blast my jungle music Devastated lobbies, destroyed car wrecks A swarm of kids coming to score freebies Orange lights flaring, smoking chimneys Pickup soccer games on the asphalt Golf VR6, screeching tires Silence broken by police sirens Façonnable polos, tacky tracksuits Mothers with admirable character traits Counterfeit hashish, prison stories Stupid divisions, piles of embers Oriental clichés, spicy food Charming tree-inspired names for buildings in the cement forest Midday desert, scorching sun Nightlife during the month of Ramadan Lack of distraction creates action Games of dice, belote, gambling, fatal attractions Non-stop laughter, surprise arrests Corrupt arrondissement mayors Treading on used needles, dreams of traveling Car radios for a bargain, batches of ripped out stereos Guys with no back up plans, psychopaths with no pity Best friendships a guy could ever build Sports talents wasting their time in vacant lots New jokes, terrible pickup lines Individuals who crack under the stress No one make a move and no one gets hurt Fumes of ether, solvents, alcohol Brink’s vans eyed like a jackpot It’s not funny, the dog bites when locked in a cage Slobbering in rage, the cage bars climb to the second floor Sell hash, it’s wiser if you want to take out your woman If you get caught, keep your mouth shut and there’s no drama But school isn’t far away, neither is trouble It starts with spanking and ends with police custody Look at the streets, what changes? Only the seasons You drool concrete, spit concrete, shit concrete You fight for a penny, but what does that yield? Don’t regret the dough when the BAC knocks on the door Tri-colored posters treat us like dirt This isn’t Manila, okay, but the cigarettes turn to joints Guilty or innocent, we talk money, percentage Eye for eye, mouth for tooth, it’s stressful Early in the morning, the family is already outside, Kader’s gang “Fuck you!” Shit coming out their ass, they already know how to swear It’s not easy to talk about love, working at a factory Beautiful hoochies break their backs in the kitchens Politicians hammer on about renovation, it’s comforting But it’s still the same shit under a fresh layer of paint Dead dreams lie buried in the courtyard At 12 years old, driving, dying, ending up like Tupac Shakur Looking at pictures, now an adult, homie So many friends have already died in motorcycle accidents Win once, lose a thousand times, the future is a lottery For that, I dedicate my raps like an ex-voto, man Here, you’re judged on your reputation Mess up once, and everyday they’ll piss on your doorstep That’s the minimum tariff and watch out The heavyweights transform the area into a stronghold Frozen, the air becomes electric, there’s plenty of seats Frozen concrete instead of an ice field The kids wanna get out, but the “no”s come down like hammers DSU grants get pumped into shitty artists So much energy lost on unfounded prejudice The financial decision makers’ visions are full of shit Meanwhile, dreams fall and flounder, some people rap Rocks fly, stolen cars skid out of control School is a shithole, fire extinguishers are emptied out in the halls The hood becomes a hunting ground for detectives Backs have eyes ‘cause the water is growing a reef Reap the money, we’re playing dice in a dark coffin It’s too much, guys shit on the Romeo complex After a smoke, hotwire a car and have a rodeo Life is rough, if you want a little fantasy They put rubber in the hash and still sell it to you for khams alaf You tell me, “It’s fine; it’s not too much” But for tcherno, when a Hamidou has nothing, it’s a lot I don’t know what I’m talking ’bout, I’m just a bastard I had to celebrate my 20th birthday with three bottles of Valstar The spot is hot tonight, who’s the kingpin? From the outset, the walls are reserved like parking spots But who can understand when they have a full mène? That someone at his wit’s end will fight back, fueled by hate And that you’re not born programmed to do bad things I don’t think about tomorrow, ’cause tomorrow is far away] |
