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The horizon is jarring, I have rain on the windshield
A customer on the phone and a mistress who drags on
Tip. A piece of blueberry pie...
I'm heading back down the boulevard, my rims sparkling
The opaque road, the flashing peep shows
The high on crack: welcome to pimp show!
Whores on high heels in flashy shorties
The bags are lined up waiting for the backchick
It's trouble in the distance, I'm changing course
Me get out of here, I'm too afraid of meeting the devil
An old pimp is losing his temper
Talks to himself, coughs, between each word he spits blood
Ambulance siren, gutter corsair
Settling of scores with the hammer at the gas station
No way, waiting at the red light
Customer in red sweater, michton emerging
The young people are bickering, scaring the tourists
The noise stops when the police arrive
The entrance to the clubs, beautiful, well-mounted fillies in pumps and heavily diamonded
My routine?
A necklace of street lamps, kilometers of reverb between 2 grenadines
The same tubes which pass on the frequencies
The same ads all in huge format...
The cannibalistic neighborhoods, the crazy chicken parties
The fuschia atmosphere, the bags of oil gone crazy
Vice and money turn cams to dealers
From dealers to wholesalers and from wholesalers to Range Rovers
Double file to Pigalle! the pain of not moving
At the zebra crossing a misfit calls me an asshole
Ukraine is hanging around in scantily clad clothing at the time when I brake
And the air tastes like my bitter bench where I ken
The street is filthy like its dirty stories
Its crooked cops, its Greek mayo... and its sidewalks
A quarter past eight I finish the shift
I go to the bar, coffee, toast, toilet out of service