Métèque [English translation]

With my wog-like face

My mug of a wandering nigga

Still so resistant to staying in line

I'll be honest with you, as honest as can be

In line I can't [stay]*, your morals examined closely

Being cut off my ego,

Makes me psycho, I bare my fangs

Makes me psycho in my flow, and then there's no more ideals

Thus I become addicted to arrogance, violence

And then, for you good people, ah ! it's too much.

With my wog-like face, my predatory looks

In phase with his time, I grew up without any tutor

grew up like weed,

Like a croatian or serbian kid,

Being told my attitude makes people puke

Shit hits the fan, shit hits the fan

With my wog-like face, patched up, that mixed it up in fights

From whom everything was taken away, stolen away, to whom was given so little

I was severly beaten up by my deserter of a father

To the point where I hoped there was happiness in hell

Atrophied perception

And it's not your morals that put clothes on my back

Because the isolation in which I grew up was unfair

In which I was deeply pushed

To which nobody ever wanted to change anything

With my wog-like face watered by passion

My priesthood is my mission and if reward there is,

my heart leads me to death

Nothing can be taken for granted, this

I'm not worried about.

With my bitter and sour looks, curved like an iron wire

sharpened for war, I work for the parent company

With my face, I'm real careful,

I don't have a greek god aspect

It's possible I get arrested, or by mistake get chartered**

With my drank-too-much mouth, my obtuse looks that stinks of streets

With my washed out eyes making me look like I'm dreaming

With my criminal dreams

My non-stop fits of rage

With my wog-like face

Inheriting a remote suffering

I don't wanna end up like a victim, or even end up at Fresnes

With her face and her green eyes

Everything brings me closer to my mom

Everything keeps me farther away from my father thanks to whom I have this bitter taste [in my mouth]