Yes, yes, like that No metal Hey, it's Youssoufa on Boulevard Attack No metal Turn up my voice No metal So they can hear what I have to say No metal Ok, classic, like this Vivaldi loop We move to get royal with royalties Classic, like a police brawl in the 9th croix The break, the misery, the brothers want to believe Classic, like the hypocrisy of the people of the showbiz They want to mark my poetry, obligatory interest Classic, like announcing that hip-hop in France is dead So listen, they are dead and you will have novels Classic, like the fascists in the states The racists in the electoral states The tasks of the classic morality Like the madness of the technocrats Of the intruders who believe they can judge the rap Without knowing the street Classic, the temptation when the money starts to be lacking And the impression that the illicit allows you to bank Classic, the love trap of these girls When you *** at the beginning, she ***s you At the end, she ***s you Classic, like a climatic chronicle The indifference to climate problems Here is a classic theme Classic, like mine without their history books Innocent but too much blood on our classic territories Classic, like your friends who forget you when you're drunk There is only your mother who sighs when you're in your yellow Classic, like the laziness of going to pray To thank the all-seeing creator who made you sick It's war, but nothing surprises me Life is monotonous, but nothing surprises me Man is a wolf for man, but nothing surprises me Don't show your balls, but nothing surprises me It's war, but nothing surprises me Life is monotonous, but nothing surprises me Man is a wolf for man, but nothing surprises me Don't show your balls, but nothing surprises me Classic, like the injustices of justice in France We carry scars since our childhood Classic, our challenges, our tributes to our victims The good images of our sons are not on TV Classic, like a war led by the white house My fanatics adhere when the reason flanks Classic, the ravages of the Bedouins on our skulls The ghetto is too dirty and our metal burns Classic, like a scoundrel who loses a trial Or Taï when he's drunk announces his big sec Classic, like making a deal with the Vendard And say that those who make it call themselves gendarmes Classic, like the resentment that can be seen in my eyes I wanted money, but some bosses prayed to God Classic, they don't want Renoir in the opera anymore I'm nostalgic for the 1st sector and its classics Like those cowards who clash on the internet But hide because real life is too trash And it's classic, like the awareness of driving drunk on the road In France it's the mother of the world who ends up under the wheel Classic, my intercessions with the authorities I understood that to deserve is their priority Classic, what is classic is the sound of Youssoupha