Lyrics: I have a hard time talking about anything other than alcohol and weed Fuck the prosecutors and the minimum wage, bring me the money quickly Guiz bit into the fruit, swallowed the beer, yes it's shit I live between the rope and the void As the tax man harasses people It's a nasty puzzle Like drugs and the hustle Malcolm is the guide for guys in my crew Because we're sharp, we avoid the DAS and the cops Where are the cities where there's more money? It stinks of Afghan, murders and fights go on Facing Guiz in rap is dead I don't care about guys who act tough but suck my dick I take it easy, I think about my brothers Who fuck all the snitches who inform the cops Take back your verses, I do it ten times better In a 4x4, I just hit four puffs of Fresh weed I like making disgusting lyrics that please and fuck up the inspector I stay impeccable, don't touch it, it stings If rap were air, there would be too many asthmatics Wild from Africa, I know what you're going through I only smoke rice, bang, I make beastly killings Watch the agony of living without money Like a battlefield, it's normal that my guys sell drugs Lying to my mom And dealing in the neighborhood Sticking to my word And praying in Mecca Treated like trash, we destroy everything Guys relate to it because my lyrics kill The burning neighborhoods, the beautiful little sluts Who fuck, who suck, that's why our dicks are hard And I write about alarming subjects I killed romance because I only know hate and violence And I swear it's starting to piss me off I want to make money when I invite you to a buffet of experiences There you go, you know the depths of my thoughts I make dark music, not vacation tunes Whether we'll give up is not a question to ask When you do karate, well, we test hypnosis Tired of picking up crumbs, dude, didn't you get the sharps? Having to throw rocks at the cops, seeing them oppress my brothers We beat up guys, deal in chill places I talked to chicks just to fuck them in hotels Being tracked when you're in your city because of drug trafficking A lot of cops, you freak out, you're more suspicious You get active, you go down to scratch your money Drugs are your pillar, to establish yourself, you have to hustle, combine Lying to my mom And dealing in the neighborhood Sticking to my word And praying in Mecca I admit, sometimes I think about making it like 2Pac But I think it's not easy like a white guy dancing We like to talk cash, we have a taste for finance Click on a snitch and the whole city dances The huge dirty blows, it's almost routine I don't care about science, when will the wheel turn? I live the 36 lessons, I like to rap late if There's vodka and a joint of good weed As usual, I had to talk about it The little faggots get excited since my neighborhood is suffering And if I don't sell, I would have killed MCs Smoked Breitling watch to use the vocabulary Guizmo, business and alcohol, sad and hardcore Kick a ton of verses and fuck the dirty pigs Lying to my mom And dealing in the neighborhood Sticking to my word And praying in Mecca Cousin! (Yeah) 92, wesh wesh yo! Sensitive area (sensitive area) It's Nizi on the beat (Yonea Willy, Willy Yonea) Rémi rem' with magic hands (92, Bès-bar) What's up, cousin? (Maxto) It's L'Entourage, bro (L'Entourage) Villeneuve-la-Garenne (S-Crew, 1995) I have the shit, you didn't know or what? (That's how we do things, man) You have to tell them (Listen to this, Villeneuve-la-Garenne, the buildings, the struggle) You had never heard of rap at all (the tower of Jews) That's it (Booba, Rim-K) I'm Guizmo, the ice, the fear, the bars The franchises, the liars, dude, that's my daily life.
