I come down from my mountain on horseback from the
Retreat as a Yamabuchi monk I unpack
My cold pack in the purest tradition
My mastery is total like a Ninja in action
Innate and acquired merge
The guys observe me, I create in their heads a
Deep confusion probe my mind you will lose yours
Don't wake him up dragon, he will be hungrier than a pack of dogs
Fed on bass drums at the clap, that's what it takes
Don't hit any bad melodies, or it'll be a massacre
Furtive shadows cut through the night like shurik'n
My bokken shines like a seagull swooping down on its prey
Master Kano of the Li Po pen drunk with Tao
Drunken paou style one more in the pao
Calligraphed this text is dedicated to the rataclan
A good raw sound for the gangsters
CHORUS:
Don't let go of the mic, it's slimy
IAM breaks the house with thunderous lyrics
Arrives with fat stinking jackals
A good raw sound for the hoodlums
He who fucks my zic, your shit , the dirty cops
At home we get hit with Predator Kick's
Fix or I'll mystify you like a Twix, as wild as the Knick's
The manimal comes back with his clique, always the same ones
br/>The six warriors of apocalypse, look at the horizon it is our banner
Who rises, IAM I am and I remain a puzzle
Bet on me boy Well, those who deny my sound will end up
By hitting their heads on the walls
The nature of the elements pushes me after the trash
The impure becomes pure by mastering the writing
On the mix tapes a coat of arms engraved Dark Side inside
A good raw sound for the gangsters
Now mature my life is based on melodies
The erasures on my pages have forged my conscious mind
That my vocation will serve the expression of my school, son
That of the microphone of money
My subconscious guides me, the infinite crystal clear power
Look what a good guy can do when you play the gangster
Listen to the last freeman of the clan of 108 dragons
CHORUS:
Don't let go of the mic, it's sticky
IAM breaks the house with thunderous lyrics
Comes in with the fat of stinking jackals
A good raw sound for the hoodlums
Hola amigo, I'm coming back with a pack of saligots
And lots of rotten guys, screw the profit to the gringos
A good raw sound, let go of your zique, it's renza
Cerveza in the grip, recognize it's me Sentenza
I hope you're fast, kid, or your beat is a flop
A flop, if you come to me kill, don't talk about your life, man
Because I distrust everything and underestimate nothing
Even the worst lousy person has a guardian angel
At the table, my mouth full sinks a plate of fazoules
Pockets 2, 3 boules, executes the contracts on pezoules
The scoundrels, appreciate this sound, it's not for nothing
It's like pal marketed just for dogs
100 fayot ignores gossip
Blondin don't die, let go of your hideout where you hide the loot
Cowboy as a ballerina, don't worry Don't be in the kingdom of stinkers
This beat is only intended for scoundrels with sweaty foreheads

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS