Mokobé — 50 CFA song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "50 CFA" by Mokobé.
Lyrics
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
Lyrics translation
Jean down, we see all his pants
His gun is in Knock, his chain is in Knock
We've burned you, bledard, put your touch back on
What's his name? 50 CFA !
It's a Cain-fri but in his head it's a Cain-ri
It has all the panoply, the tattoos, the lattice
When you see it, it bombs the torso, the gait, it breaks it
Always more threatening, like " if you tej me, I'll break you»
When he's flirting, Oh señor, man, he's not kidding
Not words like "doudou", he rips off your arm
He is a real gangster of the hood, his head has gone into spin since threat and
Boyz N Da Hood
It is known in all neighborhoods, all fast food
He invents a life: one day it's Crips, one day Bloods
He still lives at his parents ' house, he doesn't cut his teeth, he gets up late, he eats everything
He don't give a shit, he don't give a shit, he don't give a shit
In his room there are plenty 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 Potos Souleimane Banks
Mamadou Yayo
Jean down, we see all his pants
His gun is in Knock, his chain is in Knock
We've burned you, bledard, put your touch back on
What's his name? 50 CFA !
It grows cast iron, 5 kilos on each side
After ten pumps, he already has a point aside (Hey I hurt, there.)
His favorite passion is to eat chicken
Don't tell him about burger, rice (I want chicken)
Attention he has a crazy style
He still puts on Karl Kani, Cross Colors and Fu-bu
With our Italian sapes, for him we are buffoons
You give him a Dolce, he makes you a dishcloth
He never takes off his cap with his grainy hair
It is a spontaneous sponge, the dishes with its veuch', it can rub it
When no one sees him, he says he was in prison
Kind of for robbery while it was quiet at home
He spends his time looking for chicks on the net
And when it works, they get away straight when they see his head
Oh 50 CFA you have a headache
Come back to Earth, here Paname is not the States
Why would you want to invent a life for yourself
You're a tier-quar bastard, you'll never be Fifty.
You're not from New York, but you're from New York. ***
I must have beamed the Sinan country. wooooh
Jean down, we see all his pants
His gun is in Knock, his chain is in Knock
We've burned you, bledard, put your touch back on
What's his name? 50 CFA !
Third verse, each time…
(- Come on, move it, yo !)
- Don't touch me, mytho, don't even touch me !
(Hey go ahead, DJ pass me the mic, I show that I can sing there)
Oh, come on
Chicken wing, chicken wing, ok
Chicken wing, Chicken Wing, come on
Come on, Come on, everybody on the track, everybody
Come dance on the new dance
It's chicken wing, Chicken Wing, 50 CFA, Oye
Come dance, come, it's heavy, heavy
Come, come on the track, Come, Come on the dance floor
All arms in the air, all arms in the air
Arms in the air, arms in the air
Hahaha