La petite voix Lyrics English Translation by Orelsan
Look at the truth for real, what you’ve become
See what you could have been for real, you lost your way
Stop acting like you’ve got it all together, nobody’s fooled
You’ve become for real what you hated at the start
You’re just a piece of shit, my little Aurélien, for real, you let me down
Like you let your parents down when you flunked out of school
But they can go fuck themselves, for real, my little Aurélien
I’m the only one you need to listen to, for real, my little Aurélien
Look where it gets you, trying so hard to please everyone
They’re stealing your share of oxygen, you feel like a weight’s on your lungs
Boom-boo-boo-boo-boom, it’s your heart racing
Boom-boo-boo-boo-boom, another anxiety attack
You don’t dare face your little problems so you hide
And you go to bed like during the controversies because you’re a coward
I always knew you were a coward but look at what you’re wasting
You have all the things you dreamed of at half your age but
Boom-boo-boo-boo-boom, you little biatch
You’re just a fraud, you’re nothing, you’re air, you’re just a mirage
We don’t know if you’re the intellectual or the village idiot
We don’t know if you’re Mélenchon or the whore of LVMH
We don’t know if you’re woke, if you’re reac, if you’re left, if you’re right
You play the eco-warrior and annoy the hell out of everyone with your brand
We just know you’re fake like when you sing off-key
When you play the fake rapper like your fake acting skills
You can tell you love the cash, stop acting like a simple guy, fake
You can tell you’ve got an ego, stop acting humble, fake
With that emo fringe like a lesbian teen from the provinces
You should have quit rap instead of abandoning Gringe, huh
In your tracks, you’re a rebel speaking truths, huh
In interviews, you’re just a piece of shit who only dodges, huh
You don’t talk about real issues, you don’t dare criticize anything
Because all you want is to sell your limited editions
You’re just a spin-off product, you’re just a slut in disguise
Your lyrics are just clichés, badly recited
You’ve got no commitment, no honor, no conviction
You’re just a frigid whore who never dares take a stand
Civilization, bastard, it’s a catastrophe
You make preachy music like your professor dad
You make music for kids, for housewives
You make music to put Victoires awards on your shelves
You ignored your loved ones for years to build a career
And you make music like you want to fuck your mother
To think you made all those sacrifices to make shit
I feel like slapping an innocent kid when I hear “La Quête”
It’s over, you’re down, you get outshone on every feat’
You don’t like current music, you mix up all the artists
You turn down a bunch of feats’ because deep down, you’re racist
You brought more white people into rap than a supremacist
Your audience is cops, teachers, accountants
There are so many white people in your audience, it’s like being in the mountains
There are so many victims in your audience, it smells like Prozac
There are so many white people in your audience, it smells like cheese
Your audience is disgusting, there are no decent chicks
Just lost people who dress like bums
Who take the worst pictures of you with their fat fingers
Since they can’t afford a good phone
OrelFan, haha, make me laugh, bastard
Look at the state of your fanbase, it’s a catastrophe
Pieces of shit who know nothing about music, who don’t like rap
Unless it’s sung by a little clown in Carhartt
Otherwise, it reminds them they’re scared of getting mugged
I wipe my ass with their fan-art, their desperate words
They do nothing but criticize, it’s like they don’t want to love you
Like they’re just waiting for a misstep to burn your CDs
And don’t pretend you love your city, it’s beat
It’s dead, that’s why they call you “Caennais”
It’s full of hicks you can’t even stand
Yeah, you’re gonna sink your city like the Mbappés
Speaking of blowing cash, we need to talk about your skank
What’s the point of making it big to bang a-ç ?
I said “skank” but it’s worse: it’s your wife
What’s the point of being rich to consume low-grade stuff?
With success, it’s like you’re BG
But you, you set yourself up with a shitty life and a broken Jap
What’s the point of making it big to never get laid?
The last time you fucked, bastard, you made a baby
Besides, that’s the ultimate trick to trap you
Before, she controlled you, now, she’s gonna bleed you dry
All that to give birth to a privileged piece of shit
With an absent father who can’t raise it
If it’s me, the baby, it’s out, Nanako, it’s out
The Normans, they’re out, France, it’s out
The fanbase, it’s out, your career, it’s out
Avnier, it’s out, Ablaye and Skread, they’re out
The healthy life, it’s out, the conscience, it’s out
Your family, it’s out, OrelSan, it’s out
Basically, everything’s out except me
For real, fuck San, now, make way for Sama
Sama, Sama, Sama, Sama, Sama, Sama, Sama, Sama