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Genius English Translations - La Caution The A La Menthe English Translation Lyrics

[Verse 1: Nikkfurie]
Boy, I remember a "Mrs. Nicole"
A teacher who thought a raghead wasn't made for school
I wore ragged velour, and red boots made of plastic
A wool hood, a sweater or some 'Play-Baskets'
The barber didn't even know that I existed
But be sure that the first one to see us desisted
However young and innocent, the snot on our noses with no Kleenex
We squatted in the sandbox with our 'sahabs' and our ideas
Born to vandalize without even knowing it
Our parents didn't have so we erred without having
According to our neighbors, big racists, to be precise:
We were badly raised and their German shepherds better dressed
Me, I don't believe it, and I never did
Because parental is the only love that I ever had
So, not to venerate, what puts me on the mend:
The virtues of Nahnah: therefore, mint tea

[Verse 2: Hi-Tekk]
First generation slum, clandestine atmosphere
In a bar in Barbès: mint tea, couscous, and tajine on the menu
No more Scopitone for Mouloud and Saïd, Abdallah
With a dirty accent, no 'salamalecs', said Hassan the athlete
Originally from Algeria, from Hollywood to Tamanrasset
No more mint tea, just bitter words
Like a mental illness, I have a headache, I retort
I run around in Stan Smith, Adidas, 501 jeans, it's okay, I'm stuck with them
Here, there's the assault, for a dozen more, there will be blood in the air
This France tears me apart: an Arab is classed as a wobbly barbarian
Fuck the culture of 'barbecue', 'steak', and 'fast-foods
In the bled, it's djellaba and sweaters, from Oujda to Casablanca
It's banal at the bottom of the city, I'm pissed and I don't give a fuck
It slashes at the base of my hall; my pain and my joy are mingled
And that's all that's left of our cultural heritage (of our cultural heritage)
[Verse 3: Nikkfurie]
An adolescence of "Nastase and 501, Pento, funk cassettes, and the old man in 505"
But then came the word "Problem" with a capital P
In the face of which all the world trembles or hardens
After innocence, the pessimism took root
Before incandescence, the straight path curved
I took his hand and my happiness cramped me
Like only money and honor can make me real
But here, one can accuse you of things that, if you did them, you would hang
They need an Arab, a Black, whatever you want, in short something concrete
We were lucky to never take ourselves seriously
Rubbing shoulders with vice without ever taking a dangerous leap
Modeling our life on the leap of the angel
At school, us vultures against the Albatross of Baudelaire
We found ourselves in rap against all real expectations
The recipe: sampler, pen, and mint tea