London in March_freestyle 2025 (English translation) lyrics

["London in March" English translation]

[Verse 1 : Bigflo]
Baby, you can’t pace, have to save myself, can’t be a saviour
I entered this game without ticket, we jumped the turnstile like two fraudsters
They’re fighting outside the club, f*ck, it’s getting heated, wave to the driver
I don’t care about their opinion, they’re only jokes, yeah, they’re only bloggers
I protect my brother for life, so if I’m Vi, then Oli is Powder
Life’s badly done, if I was born in the States, I’d probably be in Power
Didn’t want to show you you harmed me so I saved face like in poker
Each to his strength, each to his place, if Oli’s the ace then I’m the joker
No, no, no, no (let’s go, let’s go)
Look me in the eyes, tell me the truth
The more I grow old, the more I think I deserved it
There’s nothing to win, except R.I.Ps
I’ll be dead anyway, f*ck posterity
I start to meditate, soon I’ll levitate
Soon I’ll guide them, I’ll get them recite
Machines count cash, they do it
Machines count cash, they do it everyday
I’m at the age where kids want me as a mentor
I look at the hill, waiting for reinforcements to come
Young crow became big condor
When you get rich, you get bogged down in comfort
Oli’s not tired, he still wants to f*ck them
Took me a while to say it, but I was in the wrong
I hide my feelings into Pandora’s box
I look at her and smile while she falls asleep
Oli, my brother, makes art
Each word is gold
We come from far away, it starts from there
I’ve changed, I think I forgive you
Mum’s health
My reflection in the Garonne
Sometimes I think that it’s made with tears
You know the artist, but not the man
(You know the artist, but not the man)

[Verse 2 : Oli]
I’m gonna spoil my trip if I anticipate the crash
Curious, I’d like to know all they’re hiding
They don’t really fight, they do wrestling
Close-ups, fake blood, fake trash
His hand’s shaking on the gun during the hostage taking
Always wary of the good guys’ hidden face
Ephemeral career, artists are panicking
Like the pianist that played on the Titanic
I’m mad at life, like a guy in heaven, killed by a rifle
The day I’m no longer inspired, I diversify
I anticipate the end of oil like a Qatari
If you hate me, then we look alike
Tell me what’s left from adolescence
Phoenix in my texts, I need to mix
Art with tears, ink with ashes
Incessant thoughts, strange phenomenon
Impossible that you feel the life I live
And you start to understand that you hadn’t
I’ve avenged my ancestors, we’re even
Fake leak to see who’s the traitor in the team
Is the neighbour’s grass greener if it’s synthetic turf ?
London, first school trip, I counted coins for a key ring
Many years later, sold-out concert, future fulfilled thirtysomething
I shrank my close circle, it’s feeling, not a little whim
You wish me harm, it’s ugly, when you get close my scar hurts
Fans and mates are speed
Like a cop and a pickpocket from Oxford Street
After myself, big chase
Where I’ll be on the wrong track again
My mate from primary school’s just got a baby, he’s finally approaching his dream life
He tells me about the magic of birth meanwhile I try to give birth to a mixtape (a mixtape, let’s go)
(Those who knew aren’t surprised)