50 CFA - Mokobé

Jean baissé, on voit tout son froc

Son flingue est en toc, sa chaîne est en toc

On t’a cramé, blédard, remets ta toque

What’s his name?

50 CFA !

C’est un cain-fri mais dans sa tête c’est un cain-ri

Il a toute la panoplie, les tatouages, le treillis

Quand tu l’vois, il bombe le torse, la démarche, il la casse

Toujours plus l’air menaçant, du genre «si tu me tej, j’te casse»

Quand il drague, oh señor, l’homme, il blague pas

Pas des mots du genre «doudou», il t’arrache le bras

C’est un real gangster du hood, sa tête est partie en vrille depuis Menace et

Boyz N Da Hood

Il est connu dans tous les quartiers, tous les fast-food

Il s’invente une vie: un jour c’est Crips, un jour Bloods

Il vit encore chez ses parents, il taffe pas, il s’lève tard, il bouffe tout

Il fout rien, il range rien, il s’en fout

Dans sa chambre y a plein d’posters de Fifty

Il lui arraché sa tête pour mettre sa photo, genre c’est lui

Attention ce soir il est d’sortie

Avec ses deux potos Souleimane Banks

Mamadou Yayo

Jean baissé, on voit tout son froc

Son flingue est en toc, sa chaîne est en toc

On t’a cramé, blédard, remets ta toque

What’s his name?

50 CFA !

Il pousse la fonte, 5 kilos de chaque côté

Au bout de dix pompes, il a déjà un point de côté (hé j’ai mal, là.)

Sa passion favorite c’est de manger du poulet

Ne lui parle pas d’burger, de riz (moi je veux du poulet)

Attention il a un style de fou

Il met encore du Karl Kani, du Cross Colors et Fu-bu

Avec nos sapes italiennes, pour lui on est des bouffons

Tu lui donnes un Dolce, il t’en fait un torchon

Il enlève jamais sa casquette avec ses cheveux grainés

C’est une éponge Spontex, la vaisselle avec ses veuch', il peut la frotter

Quand personne le voit, il dit qu’il était en prison

Genre pour braquage alors qu’il était tranquille à la maison

Il passe son temps à chercher des meufs sur le net

Et quand ça marche, elles se sauvent direct quand elles voient sa tête

Oh 50 CFA tu fais mal à la tête

Redescends sur Terre, ici Paname c’est pas les States

Pourquoi vouloir t’inventer une vie

T’es un bledard du tier-quar, tu seras jamais Fifty

T’es pas de New York mais tu viens ***

J’ai dû biper le pays sinan.

wooooh

Jean baissé, on voit tout son froc

Son flingue est en toc, sa chaîne est en toc

On t’a cramé, blédard, remets ta toque

What’s his name?

50 CFA !

Troisième couplet, à chaque fois…

(-Allez pousse-toi, yo !)

— Ne me touche surtout pas, mytho, me touche même pas !

(Hey vas-y, DJ passe-moi le mic, que je montre que je sais chanter là)

Oh, come on

Aile de poulet, aile de poulet, ok

Aile de poulet, aile de poulet, come on

Venez, venez tout le monde sur la piste, tout le monde

Venez danser sur la nouvelle danse

C’est aile de poulet, aile de poulet, 50 CFA, aïe

Venez danser, venez, c’est du lourd, du lourd

Venez, venez sur la piste, venez, venez sur la piste de danse

Tous les bras en l’air, tous les bras en l’air

Les bras en l’air, les bras en l’air

Hahaha

Jean down, we see all his pants

His gun is fake, his chain is fake

You've been burned, badass, put your hat back on

What's his name?

50CFA!

He's a cain-fri but in his head he's a cain-ri

He's got the whole outfit, the tattoos, the fatigues

When you see him, he puffs out his chest, his gait, he breaks it

Always more menacing, like "if you kill me, I'll break you"

When he's flirting, oh señor, man, he's not joking

Not words like "cuddly toy", he rips your arm off

He's a real gangster from the hood, his head been spinning since Menace and

Boyz N Da Hood

He's known in every neighborhood, every fast food

He invents a life: one day it's Crips, one day Bloods

He still lives with his parents, he doesn't puff, he gets up late, he eats everything

He don't care, he don't put anything away, he don't care

In his room are lots of posters of Fifty

He ripped his head off to put his picture, like it's him

Watch out tonight he's out

With his two friends Souleiman Banks

Mamadou Yayo

Jean down, we see all his pants

His gun is fake, his chain is fake

You've been burned, badass, put your hat back on

What's his name?

50CFA!

He pushes cast iron, 5 kilos on each side

After ten push-ups, he already has a side stitch (hey, it hurts there.)

His favorite passion is to eat chicken

Don't talk to him about burger, rice (I want chicken)

Beware he has a crazy style

He still puts Karl Kani, Cross Colors and Fu-bu

With our Italian dresses, for him we are jesters

You give him a Dolce, he makes you a tea towel

He never takes off his cap with his grainy hair

It's a Spontex sponge, the dishes with his veuch', he can scrub it

When no one sees him, he says he was in jail

Like for robbery while he was quiet at home

He spends his time looking for chicks on the net

And when it works, they run away when they see his face

Oh 50 CFA you hurt your head

Come back down to earth, here Paname is not the States

Why do you want to invent a life

You a third-quarter bledard, you'll never be Fifty

You're not from New York but you're from ***

I had to page the sinan country.

wooooh

Jean down, we see all his pants

His gun is fake, his chain is fake

You've been burned, badass, put your hat back on

What's his name?

50CFA!

Third verse, each time...

(-Come on, move on, yo!)

"Don't touch me, mytho, don't even touch me!"

(Hey come on, DJ pass me the mic, let me show that I can sing here)

Oh come on

Chicken wing, chicken wing, okay

Chicken wing, chicken wing, come on

Come on, come on everybody on the track, everybody

Come dance to the new dance

It's chicken wing, chicken wing, 50 CFA, ouch

Come dance, come on, it's heavy, heavy

Come on, come on the floor, come on, come on the dance floor

All arms up, all arms up

Arms in the air, arms in the air

Hahaha