home English Tracks B.B. Jacques-Sport de riche (English translation) Lyrics

B.B. Jacques-Sport de riche (English translation) Lyrics

Song Info: Presenting you B.B. Jacques-Sport de riche (English translation) Lyrics.

B.B. Jacques-Sport de riche (English translation) Lyrics

[Lyrics to ”SPORT OF THE RICH”]

[Verse 1]
I leave the cafe, I cross Panama from 19 to 6
The looks that land on me, I sweep them away, I marry them
I finish my cigarette in front of the Paki’, it’s the same as the one in the clip of “Opium”
The corrector, this motherfucker, he still talks to me about Palo
I would advance more if I was smarter, babe, I make art and mala
Boss like Dawala
Very little flex, no letting go
NBOW, I take action, I have a blase not to dirty
Music, a rich man’s sport, 200k notes in the slip
Hey, shut up, so I can write
Today, we smoke weed in the offices that others open to us
Leave the door ajar
Put on a violin, a trumpet, a trombone, I’m in the balls
Before, the excuse was that I didn’t have the Ks
I didn’t wait to take them to free myself from the codes
I didn’t come to entertain but to slap
Eh l’X, if you came to gov’, take a Bud, take a Jack
Basically, I was not civil
Basically, I was not cynical
Basically, I was not signed
Kho, I didn’t get the signal
I wipe my ass with your opinions on my way of posing
Alvaro, he’s breaking a buzz, it seems I’m going to become a star
Fuck off
Eh Diabi, you know the ambush
The photographer, he captures, he leaks, it buzzes
To say that there was not even an engineer at the base
Your girl is a fan, don’t worry, I’ll check her, I won’t kiss her
I stay in my bubble despite all the buzz around
And to say that the Sale had fifteen years[Verse 2]
I just have to listen to you talk to write fifteen pages
I had to talk about me to talk to you
Damn, what I cause
Damn, what I cause
And to say that I have to think each time before, basically, it’s an album, not a film
He was a brother, not a fan, what the fuck is the difference?
Of an artist and a madman, if not the work
Stop ashin’ in my glass of ‘sky
It’s one more sound, it’s not one glass too many
There’s something to be proud of us, the ques-J’, it’s the spearhead
There’s something to be proud of us, the other idiot, he wants to book me for New Year’s Day
Tomorrow in Lyon, two weeks later in Nice
Better from year to year, there are pins on a designer’s suit
Isolate yourself, try to be creative, at first you’ll just look like a dick
They want to see the ques-J’ on drill or baile funk
And fuck his mother, I stay at the stud’, I work hard
No, Eros, I’m not going to events, I’ll put the papers on the ground for the zenith
Only the D.A, I haven’t even flexed in Céline yet
I’m good when it lags
I throw myself into the salty sea
Keep busy believing it barely wears out, but weh who’s that-ui’c?
Make art, I don’t care who made you
Cantilevered album, let the wind carry my passion
And what happened to your wife?
And the debates in the hallway when I try to tter-gra
How many texts have I buried?
J’té-cla on the terrace at Sony, isn’t the terrine good?
O.B, Sagnol, side, they listen to the production, they are appalled
You want to rap, it’s at your own risk, neither work nor interim
Are they there for the art or interest? fuck off
I let the WeTransfer expire, let them talk, I take care of the rest, I work
I’ll take care of the dream, babe, do you have any red left?
Am I going to last? How long am I going to live from rap?
You had to stay, there’s a pressure in the fact that you type
It’s art, it’s pictorial
There’s the peak before the trough of the wave, on the next one, I let go
Damn, I have to put all this shit down
I don’t know if it’s the beginning or the end of the week
It seems that I divided
I see them, they are two, they turn around
As if it was still the beginning
Nah, brother, I’m not in time, end of debate[Outtro]
I wanted it, I didn’t fake it
The question, a great debate
I’m the gun and the bullets, it’s just that before, no one knew me
Tip the waiters, you bunch of rats
I give off a smoke thicker than some asses
A phrase, an aphorism
The end of each sound, there’s like a trick
But fuck his mother
I talked about me to talk to you
To say that the Dirty had fifteen years
Eh Diabi, you know the ambush
Fuck the buzz

This is the end of the Lyrics

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