Despo Rutti – Traffic de stéréotypes (English lyrics)

Intro :
They don’t want to allow me the time to explain myself…pff
Tell them that I don’t make any music, I’m not a singer
I do legal stereotype trafficking on CD, homie

1rst verse :
These assholes bailiffs are knocking on my door
Let them know, they’ll probably take away a plasma screen that fell from a pick up truck or that was financed with drug money
Yeah nigga, we already know it, I’m crazy, my armpits stink and I rap about senseless violence, that’s my trade
If in the next 2 seconds you don’t move, we’ll screw you !
Come on !
Criticize my flow, laisse mes stéréotypes officiel bolos ! (??)
You know what ?
Take a deep breathe, I won’t use your problems to hype up my audience
Hey, I’m not Delarue, ya fohi !
Plus I’m kind of a weird khelouch
Me, I sing the Marseillaises 15 minutes before the end of the police custody
Emmanuel Chain fucked up my image then left Canal+
Whether employee or thug, I’ll stand up for my homies, I piss on his ass !
The irony of it is that the more I talk shit, the more those that look like me move their heads
Whenever I say that I brutally lost a brother
The fascists give 13 dollars to their little blondies to go buy my street album

Chorus :
I’ll sell you some big head Zairians with two or three years less on the fascists
Well being in alcohol abuse
Bank transfers of the assdecs
The fact of going in and out of jail
You know the drill fam’ …
I’ll share my artistic point of views with a bunch of whack ass clichés
We’ll make it work, make fertilizer with shit
I’ll talk to you about my life
Le ter-ter de matraquage (??)
The hunger of the gang des barbares

2nd verse :
You’re firing me, no problem
I’ll make a buck
Sincerely yours…sons of bitches
The next arab on the watch list will be Jamel
He has money, he believes in Allah
Dammit, cousin !
The cops are on me, that won’t avoid having a pastor’s sperm on a juvenile’s face
They can’t stand me, because I won’t cry
I keep my ideas in place and think fast
Tchek, we’re here…
They’ve got my fingerprints, it’s my hoodie that screws up my presumption of innocence
Don’t think that I’ll drag the Fnac’s hostess by her brushing because she slangs my anger to your little brother
Just keep in mind from the start that if you’re not corny, Muscast we’ll remove your album from the shelves
Catch me in a stolen Golf IV tonight, with a couple drug dealers in front of the Champion’s league

Chorus (2X) :
I’ll sell you some big head Zairians with two or three years less on the fascists
Well being in alcohol abuse
Bank transfers of the assdecs
The fact of going in and out of jail
You know the drill fam’ …
I’ll share my artistic point of views with a bunch of whack ass clichés
We’ll make it work, make fertilizer with shit
I’ll talk to you about my life
Le ter-ter de matraquage (??)
The hunger of the gang des barbares

I’m having chiken chika
I’m known from the police service
I know where to find myslef a big magnum
The major’s aristicrates hate me
I’m giving work to Grosdidier
I’m a menace zahef
I could sign at Bayes