[Booba - Indépendants/ English Translation]

[Intro]
Give me my cash, kho
Quick, give me my cash, kho
Hurry, give me my cash, kho

[Verse 1]
There's life, its bright side, I'm on the other shore boy
I'm listened to at Fnac or by the GR
Danger because I made it indie
I don't care to get into the Bains-Douches, n***a I'm loaded
Odd since the beginning, my familly issues in the schoolbag
It's like babies' EPO
And in the cartel we may die wanted, covered in bullets
But real, so you'll remember
My clique, for them I make an effort
And if I hesitate it's because a hash pellet clogs the barrel
I drank the Seine and all its dead bodies
Kid, you just bought the brand new Air Max, don't tight off your arms with the laces
For them if you're black, either from the project or a manor
You won't go far, its selling crack or scoring three-points
I saw the past kidnapping the future
The present sucking dicks, and all my n***as on a ship

[Instrumental Bridge]
[Verse 2]
Oh yeah? You speak like that?
So with a cut in the intestines 3atay, you leave like that
We made it alone, from the basement to the rooftop without compass
From the caress, to the finger in the asshole
It comes from Boulogne, y'see fervor in our eyes can be read
Fed with drugs, illicit 'till the underpant, business
As moral as Adebisi, real Gs know
I only have my guts, my hip hop and some principles
You get it, it's been 8 years now, and liars go big, die right away
I'm filling the lyrical hospitals
What? I feel sad when I look at this century
Where gunfire bursts heat the climate
You see, that's the tune of the thugs, timal
Today I'm here, yersterday I died of 41 bullets
Too colorful, like a fake Pascal
Mad Max generation, born into the magma

[Instrumental Bridge]

[Verse 3]
Here we take our breakfast, with hash, we die as youngster
Evil eye, bad vibes envelopped my sector
I thought I suceeded
They told me that my submarine came from Russia, that here there were street R'n'B
I need a snack, a clitoris, a body armour
Too many fags in the rap game trash talk
Kho, check my number 9.2
I'm hurting them, except this nothing new, zilch
We keep scoring, shooting on the top corner, fail
If I forgive you
Writing during full moon nights
My tribe goes to sleep when you work
First, we're all on the turf, get your ass off the stands
Second, come on roll a weed gram
You know my city, I saw your license plate at the Boulogne wood
Man, we can't fall back
Both phone chips and bills are fake in our hoods
Sending MCs six feet under
When the light goes off, I got some Wu-Tang
They underestimated me, its time to get the mean team out
Music and crimes for the pennies
I'm causing riots, my pen is soaked in blood, fag
I gun you down, lipstick on the dick
And being independent is a turn-on