[Lyrics from "2h22"]

[Intro]
Hey

[Verse 1]
Look what I did with 10k, imagine what I can do with 450
To all those cans that ended up in ash, to all those guys whose snacks were stolen who ended up police officers
If I put my hands on your face when I kiss you, it's because you count, when I write, I know you count
Don't leave your production lying around at the end if you don't want others to fuck it
I've always dreamed of a be-bar and of rapping, we fuck too intensely for it to be lasting
Come, now, we're talking about the real things, I have more to say that I'm the best, since you know it
Let's go
If there is a guy who shouldn't be zehef, it's the cques-J
Do I detail the blows of whore or do I have to remain chic?
Contract with L'Oréal, Seak prod, artist, music teacher, it's hard to live off that
They pay me to empty the bag, an artist's life, a laud-sa's life
I told you that we were going to Lausanne, I was alone
The cques-Ja, it's not Lyonzon, basic, I'm not from here
I have the contract reread by a team of six from Assas, it was written, we realize it
Nobody did the cques-Ja, I write it, I realize it
We try to knock me out, I readapt
Basically, I had che', damn, basicly, I had finished the bum-al, motherfucker
But it's like an impulse that revives me, it was from the ppe-f' of Paname that I broke out in Naples
Head on the window of the RER which moves to Gouss'
[Verse 2]
I try to capture in a few words what required two chapters
The buzz, I v'-esqui, is it necessary that I dwell on it in the middle of ten atoms?
Urban rodeo that becomes the start of something
Refuse a five-figure proposal, no time to chain five shits
They want the rights to the sounds that I lined up when I chained five shifts
Fuck off, the Jacques, it's not the S, it's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't have time to lie anymore
1200 tickets, 120K in a bundle of hundred, it's not a signature, it's a transfer window
Volume 3, I fuck the Tokyo model from the Opium clip, part 1
Close to Netflix spoiler, but I still can't khalass Lionel's droolers
In short, no health: you motherfucker, he started on shrooms, 0-2-3-22
7-31, summer will be sad, end of the day, where is my champagne?
Where's my champagne?

[Verse 3]
That's it, it's decided, no time for excuses, I'll do it with an iPhone, garage, Audacity
Hell on Earth, Mobb Deep, I plugged in the mic, I slept at the hotel
Eighteen years old, since I don't know how to crack, I fuck the CROUS scholarship for FL
I start the pe-ra without autotune, without FX
We act stupid, we drink three-ball piss at Syphax
A few years later, I see that in fact, it was five minutes from Sony
Jacques, it's not Zola, you're dead if you're not solid at the base
Two days that I sleep more, I finish the rum of Jean Morel