More songs by Saïf
Description
A dirty beat, stripped-down truth, and a bit of philosophy at the bottom of the glass. Here, street poetry sounds like the confession of a man who has seen too much to believe in fairy tales and realized too early that goodness does not pay the bills. Everything is shrouded in smoke, anger, and irony, but somewhere between the rhymes slips a longing, the very thing that makes even a gangster feel alive.
The world around seems to have faded from cynicism, but inside there is still a spark - memories of childhood, of mother, of those who did not live to see it. And amid all this chaos, where even feelings are sold wholesale, there is only one thing that remains real - to survive and not stop seeing the signs, even if they come in the form of scars.
Lyrics and translation
Original
La pétasse me répète que j'suis pas galant
J'ai vu des gros bras partir en cavalant
Les faux resteront faux jusqu'à la mort
Et au jugement dernier, même ta main t'balance
À force d'fumer d'la merde, on a plein d'carences
J'ai zappé l'adresse de la fille à Garance
Faut biper Pato pour qu'il m'dise ça
En vrai, y a qu'les clin's qui kiffent l'avalanche
Ça pue l'seum par ici, pisté par les civ'
Petit claque le bénef vers Paris Centre
Côtoie des bandits, des vrais hommes de l'ombre
C'est trash, mais oui, ils n'connaissent pas les anges
Notre sourire s'est taillé, on l'a pas coursé
Y a des choses qui s'arrangent qu'en coursive
Le gueu-shla veut à cent pourcents
Sale con, nous, c'est la poisse qu'on courtise
Repasse t'às l'heure et le clin's est dèg'
Sale pute, si tu m'aimes, c'est dead
Du sort, c'est trash, elles font leur daronne
Pour qu'leur fils, il roule en Mercedes
C'est pas des implants qu'elle a dans les bzez
Petit suit qu'une loi, si tu parles, ça t'baise
Lui, il est un trou dans l'cœur
Il a pas d'papa, c'est le lard qui l'apaise
8-4, c'est City
Tellement City qu'on mordait pas, nous, on tordait la tétine
Dans mes rêves, Médusa m'appelle "chéri"
Sale pute, mon nom pour toi, c'est Saïf-Eddine
Belle femme casse des cœurs, petit casse des SIM
Les vainqueurs l'écrivent, nous, on la dessine (c'est trash, trash, trash, trash, trash)
Tous les jours, j'vois des signes
Les hauts placés parlent en langue des signes
English translation
The bitch keeps telling me that I'm not gallant
I saw big guys running away
The fakes will stay fake until death
And at the last judgment, even your hand swings
By smoking shit, we have lots of deficiencies
I forgot the address of the girl in Garance
You have to page Pato so he can tell me that
In reality, it's only the winks who love the avalanche
It stinks of seum around here, tracked by the civilians
Little slap the profit towards Paris Center
Rub shoulders with bandits, real men of the shadows
It's trashy, but yes, they don't know angels
Our smile was cut, we didn't chase it
There are things that only get better in the corridor
The geu-shla wants one hundred percent
You bastard, we're courting bad luck
Come back on time and the wink is gone
You dirty whore, if you love me, it's dead
Well, it's trashy, they're their daronne
So that their son drives a Mercedes
It's not implants that she has in her assholes
Little follows that a law, if you speak, it fucks you
He is a hole in the heart
He doesn't have a dad, it's the bacon that soothes him
8-4, it's City
So City that we didn't bite, we twisted the pacifier
In my dreams, Medusa calls me "darling"
Dirty whore, my name for you is Saïf-Eddine
Beautiful woman breaks hearts, breaks SIMs
The winners write it, we draw it (it's trash, trash, trash, trash, trash)
Every day I see signs
Senior officials speak in sign language