Driver — L'opium du peuple song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "L'opium du peuple" by Driver.
Lyrics
Les gens veulent savoir qui est l’soce et qui suce
Qui a l’diamant éternel et qui a celui qui s’use
Qui est-ce qui abuse, qui est-ce qui accuse
Les flow anorexiques, j’les rejette, j’les refuse
Les gens veulent savoir qui prêche et qui est proche
Qui te tend la perche et qui ne pense qu'à ses poches
Qui n’rappe pas sa vie et qui n’a pas d’avis
Qui est le pote, qui est la pute, les deux en même temps ça suffit
Cette nana est en cloque, dis-nous qui est l’papa
Les gens veulent savoir si j’m’inspire du Big Poppa
J’ai l’flow qui tabasse, le flow qui te tracasse
Et si j’te mets trois balafres c’est pour te faire comme Adidas
Les gens veulent savoir qui casse la gueule à qui
Appelle-moi Floyd Mayweather d’une autre catégorie
Et je fais durer le combat pour te faire souffrir à chaque round
Et puis j’m’endors avec du Dogg Pound
C’est l’argent et la rumeur, c’est l’opium du peuple
C’est l’argent et la rumeur
Deuxième couplet, je ne passe pas mon tour
J’roule sur mes ennemis comme Tupac Shakur
J’vais t’la faire courte, je suis pas venu pour tout gâcher
Les gens veulent savoir qui est fâché, qui est fauché
Monnaie monnaie monnaie, comme l’a dit O’Jays
Respect à mes O. G, chérie astique mon objet
Suis-moi dans mon trajet, la musique c’est ça qu’j’ai
M’la raconter avec, bouger dessus c’est ça qu’j’aime
Exubérant, chien errant, cherche la niche de CSRD
Qui amer mes goûts (?) et passé ma bitch
Bitch? Qui a dit bitch? J’en place une pour ma lady
Les gens veulent savoir si j’aime cette chanteuse de R&B
Ils veulent savoir si je suis doux, dur ou thug
Si j’ai une bip, une équipe, un clic-clic, un flingue
Si j’suis victime de coups bas, plus Rohff ou Booba
Étant de Sarcelles, pourquoi je n’suis pas dans l’Secteur Ä
I am thuggin' rawly, but I don’t give a fuck
I keep in movin' by now, and ya nigga stuff
Too much paper, way even more haters
Inna raiders like us or because I am touching paper
Caters in furs, so much floss in this hood, she would me
Started to get blurred
Don’t get it twisted hoe, I’m still with the dope
White C, 59, strictly straight, feeding hope
It’s real nigga shit, it’s all you never git
Wrestling for my paper, surely get them niggaz hit
Westside rider, any nigga takin differently
Mother fuckin' lie, my hood like the Wire
Bodies get droppin', dealer cutting copping
And that’s what you want my nigga, they keep talking
How my bodies keep droppin', dealer cutting copping
And that’s what you want my nigga, they keep talking
«Faut vous dire, Monsieur, que chez gens-là, on pense pas. On pense pas,
on prie»
Lyrics translation
People want to know who is the soce and who sucks
Who has the Eternal Diamond and who has the wearer
Who is abusing, who is accusing
Anorexic flow, I reject them, I refuse them
People want to know who is preaching and who is close
Who hands you the pole and thinks only of his pockets
Who does not steal his life and who has no opinion
Who's the buddy, who's the whore, both at the same time that's enough
This chick is in a bubble, tell us who the daddy is
People want to know if I'm inspired by Big Poppa
I have the flow that beats, the flow that troubles you
And if I put you three sweeps it's to make you like Adidas
People want to know who breaks their mouths
Call Me Floyd Mayweather from another category
And I make the fight last to make you suffer every round
And then I fall asleep with Dogg Pound
It is money and rumor, it is the opium of the people
It's money and rumor
Second verse, I don't pass my turn
I roll over my enemies like Tupac Shakur
I'm gonna make it short, I didn't come here to ruin everything.
People want to know who's angry, who's broke
Currency currency currency, as O'jays said
Respect to my O. G, dear astica my object
Follow me on my journey, music that's what I got
Tell me with it, move on it that's what I love
Exuberant, stray dog, seeks CSRD niche
Who bitter my tastes (?) and passed my bitch
Bitch? Who said bitch? I set one up for my lady
People want to know if I like this R&B singer
They want to know if I'm soft, hard or thug
If I have a beep, a team, a click-click, a gun
If I'm a victim of low blows, more Rohff or Booba
Being teals, why am I not in the sector?
I am thuggin ' rawly, but I don't give a fuck
I keep in movin ' by now, and ya nigga stuff
Too much paper, way even more haters
Inna raiders like us or because I am touching paper
Caters in furs, so much floss in this hood, she would me
Started to get blurred
Don’t get it twisted hoe, I’m still with the dope
White C, 59, strictly straight, feeding hope
It’s real nigga shit, it’s all you never git
Wrestling for my paper, surely get them niggaz hit
Westside rider, any nigga takin differently
Mother fuckin' lie, my hood like the Wire
Bodies get droppin', dealer cutting copping
And that’s what you want my nigga, they keep talking
How my bodies keep droppin', dealer cutting copping
And that’s what you want my nigga, they keep talking
«Faut vous dire, Monsieur, que chez gens-là, on pense pas. On pense pas,
on prie»