Freeman:
Experience has its secrets, just as our phases have theirs
We don't invent anything, our sentences are there, to tell the time
Without wanting to change the world, in as much as an inquisitor
Accomplished observer, on sheets and in your sectors
Always on the threshold of disgust, but don't worry, we dedicate ourselves
The race of scratchers, breakers, witness to the brave hours, standing
Those who hold on, who hold the crew, who avoided the hole
Who pass everywhere, since we don't pay attention to everything, with the rope around their neck
B.Boy fanatic, hip hop I love and sow
There's nothing nostalgic, I'm counting your future, and we're sowing you
That's it, it's is the second wind, Rhô, it goes to waste
Too many branques imagine or believe that he has a dirty face
For dirty lines, we resuscitate you, the sound is my life
Whether you're delighted or not, we've been pillaging since the days of the spinning top
Check, you're not the first to want to seize us
And you'll be not the last, IAM passes and the sighs remain
Shurik'n:
I'm the kind of horse who finishes the race even with a broken leg
Armored, hard to bring down quite racy, spirit no padlocked
Once a classic course, basic life, typical day
Work shift and horse racing weekend
Until the evening when the typhoon comes on the radio
Passion stings me
Little by little I move away from the public benches
Around my neck hung Africa
Around my crew lurked art and not money
Fleeing static, pharmaceutical
For us for them it was only exotic, therapeutic
After a long lethargic sleep
Journalistic the path taken by the clique
Caustic we talked linguistic
Mystical every day was didactic
Evolving without knowing it alongside the utopian
Surviving the serene time crushing the prognostic
Akhenaton:
Tell me why you believe that in fact we go to bed if late?
Every sleepless night we connect a good missile which leaves
Recluded in our base, hermetic like a deep-seated prisoner
When in the cocktails they take a shot of Marie Brizard
br/>Original Soldier of Mars, taker of bizarre bets
The kind that drew a line under my life as a low-wage worker
Like everyone else, I hung out from the sound to the Ricard podium
In that time the groups with us were of the guitar style
I didn't want the sun, I know what Icare did
In Paname, I learned the very stupid meaning of the word tricard
I don't want a cigar, no nice box, no helicopter
I keep in mind, my room was more of a camper van
For each verse written, one put on the left for Richard
And another: dynamite in the mouths of crybabies
Whatever their shell, IAM is anti-tank
Serious, angry, MC type maquisard
But who in the field claims that rap is bland
And if they are full tell them that the sentences are bad
So mic in hand we want the phases to be bad
br/>If that's the case all the guys shout "Pooh Pooh"
But who in the crowd claims that rap is bland
And if they're full tell them that the phrases we're bad
So mic in hand we want the phases to be bad
If that's the case all the guys shout "Pooh Pooh"

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