Learn French With Lomepal with these 10 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Regarde-moi ("Look at me") is Lomepal’s invitation to pause the world for one charged night. Over a pulsing beat, the French rapper-singer paints a scene where musical "skills" blur into skills between the sheets; words become useless while two bodies speak through glances, bites, and laughter. The chorus keeps insisting "Regarde-moi jusqu'à demain"—keep looking at me until tomorrow—reminding us that eye contact is their secret language, louder than any spoken line.
Beneath the cheeky bravado and playful punchlines lies a bittersweet awareness of time slipping away. Desire is fleeting, and "demain va devenir hier." Knowing the spell will break, Lomepal urges his partner to savor every second, to make the room roar like "two planes taking off," and to forget the cold outside world. The song glows with raw physical connection while winking at its own impermanence, capturing that exhilarating rush when passion eclipses everything except the person right in front of you.
Auburn plunges us into Lomepal’s restless mind, where the thrill of “playing with fire” literally singes his eyelashes and turns them auburn. He wants nothing more than to have carefree fun “like Cyndi Lauper,” yet every spark of pleasure carries the risk of getting burned. Between witty pop-culture nods, he reveals a body that throws tantrums, a heart that trusts nobody, and a nightlife so volatile it feels like partying inside a tinderbox. The repeated line “This is the way” sounds like a shrugging mantra: this chaotic path might be dangerous, but it is the only road he knows.
Under the pyrotechnics, the song is a sharp commentary on modern fame. Gossip magazines, social-media rumors, and faceless onlookers twist a person’s life into “their vision,” turning private slip-ups into public spectacle. Lomepal warns that the world is “too dangerous for the imperfect human” and urges us to raise a glass to our accidental ugliness before the final bill arrives. In other words: enjoy the ride, protect your spark, and live for yourself—because when the spotlight blazes too hot, even the coolest lashes can catch fire.
“Mauvais Ordre” literally means “Wrong Order,” and Lomepal uses that idea to paint the messy reality of feeling out of sync with the world around him. Throughout the track he admits he often picks the right words but strings them together the wrong way, trapping himself in awkward silences, misunderstood jokes and one–sided love. We see him pacing a room with crumpled lyrics scattered on the floor, nursing a strong rum, and claiming that his only super-power is feeling super at ease when he is super alone. The chorus keeps circling back to the same frustration: in his head life seemed simple, yet the moment he speaks, everything tangles.
Beneath the self-deprecating humor lies a deeper confession about identity. Lomepal realises he speaks the same language as everyone else but is “from another world,” and every attempt to fit in only tears him apart further. The song becomes an anthem for misfits who fear morphing into the image others project onto them. By the end, he accepts that he cannot be “like you,” deciding instead to embrace the beautiful chaos of his own mauvais ordre and invite listeners to do the same.
Decrescendo paints the soundtrack of a heartbreak so intense that it feels apocalyptic. Lomepal positions himself as a lover left behind, spiraling into rage and grief while the world around him fades "decrescendo" – quieter, darker, emptier. Vivid images of blood-stained clothes, clenched molars that spark, and art made with hammers and knives reveal how his pain morphs into violent creativity. He blames “someone else” for the loss of the woman he adores, promising vengeance once he has “nothing left to lose.”
Yet beneath the fury throbs a raw vulnerability: the silence after she is gone is louder than any noise he seeks, and every second under the ticking clock reminds him he no longer knows who he is without her. The song captures that moment when love’s absence becomes an obsession, when anger and sorrow duet until everything – thoughts, memories, even the sun – slowly dims. Decrescendo is Lomepal’s confession of a love so consuming that its end threatens to stop his entire world.
1000°C plunges us into a night where everything is turned up to the max. Lomepal and Roméo Elvis paint themselves as thrill seekers with one foot in flames, the other in ice, forever chasing extremes. They swagger through Paris-to-Brussels road trips, messy apartments that double as party headquarters, and dizzy evenings where music, friendship, and desire blur the line between euphoria and self-destruction. The repeated cry of Pas de calme, pas de calmant shows they refuse any tranquilizer—literal or metaphorical—and would rather ride the heat of the moment than face tomorrow.
Beneath the wild boasts lies a hint of vulnerability: the fear of boredom, the emptiness that lurks when the music stops, and the hope that “something tells me there’s still a chance.” 1000°C is both a celebration and a confession, capturing the high-voltage rush of young adulthood—fast money, fleeting names, and a heart that still has a few beats left to find purpose before dawn breaks.
Hasarder invites listeners into Lomepal’s restless mind, where love, fear and reckless curiosity keep trading places at the wheel. He sings about a romance that feels both urgent and disposable: “You’re the love of my life, but it’s not my only life.” Between sleepless nights, anti-anxiety pills and Death Note references, he paints life as “horribly beautiful” – so dazzling that you want to gulp down another drink even when your heart and head already feel stuffed. The chorus (“Hasarder – I can’t do anything better”) turns a French verb for gambling into a confession: he is addicted to risk itself, spinning through parties, doubts and heartbreaks just to feel something new.
Behind the playful wordplay and laid-back flow lies a bittersweet message. Lomepal suggests that when everything seems possible, choosing one path becomes nearly impossible. His friends stall, fear closes in, and denial tastes like guava – sweet yet faintly poisonous. Rather than looking for tidy solutions, he leans into chaos, knowing he might be the real danger to himself. The song is a witty, melodic shrug that says: life is messy, feelings are tangled, so pour another shot and keep rolling the dice.
Picture a velvety summer night so quiet you can still hear the cicadas. Two lovers sit in the dark, cigarettes glowing, words unspoken yet sharp enough to wound. In "Trop Beau," French rapper–crooner Lomepal invites us into this charged silence where pheromones scream louder than voices and where affection flips to accusation in a heartbeat. The track opens like an indie film scene but quickly reveals a storm of emotions: she once likened him to Lucifer, now she drinks and clings to him; he already mourns the relationship, yet cannot look away.
The song is a raw postcard from a love on the edge of collapse. Lomepal toggles between nostalgia for the blissful beginning and the chaotic reality of the present. They argue, crash, reconcile, make love, and repeat—because the high is addictive even as it hurts. Each chorus circles back to the bitter line "C'était trop beau pour être vrai"—it was too beautiful to be true—highlighting the brutal realization that some romances burn brightest right before they burn out. Ultimately, "Trop Beau" is a confession of fear, desire, and self-sabotage that feels both painfully specific and universally relatable.
Ever wish someone would just tell it like it is? In La Vérité, French rappers Lomepal and Orelsan play the role of brutally honest friends who refuse to sugar-coat failure. Over a sharp, bouncy beat, they roast a deluded artist who mistakes persistence for talent, hype for greatness, and empty bragging for originality. Their message is simple: flattery will get you nowhere, and sometimes the kindest act is a harsh reality check.
Throughout the track, the duo dismantles every excuse their target invents, from fake street-cred stories to inflated sales numbers. Each cutting line warns listeners about the traps of ego, blind loyalty, and copy-paste creativity. By the final chorus, the phrase “dis la vérité” (tell the truth) rings like a mantra, urging us to value authenticity over comfort and to welcome criticism as a path to real growth.
“Évidemment” feels like opening someone’s private diary right at the page where success meets self-doubt. Over a moody, head-nodding beat, Lomepal rewinds from his childhood dreams of “dying at the top like King Kong” to the present day, where sold-out shows and gold records still cannot silence that nagging voice asking Why love me now? He reveals a lifetime spent invisible, chasing recognition, then suddenly bathed in spotlight yet strangely colder inside. The song swings between pride and discomfort: the hunger to shine like gold clashes with memories of being overlooked, romantic failures, and nights writing alone in the dark.
At its heart, the track is a confession about the price of ambition. Lomepal celebrates the thrill of finally believing in himself, but he also exposes the emptiness that fame can’t fill. Listeners are invited to question what “balance” really means when your only “gift” is wanting to be different from everyone else. Raw, sarcastic, and brutally honest, “Évidemment” turns the glitter of success into a mirror, reflecting both the victories and the lingering shadows that follow an artist who has spent millions of hours chasing a dream.
Le Vrai Moi is Lomepal’s heartfelt confession that love can be both a mirror and a refuge. Wrapped in dreamy, looping choruses, he thanks a partner whose presence makes “everything so pretty” and freezes the hourglass of time. Next to this person he finally meets the real me, a self hidden behind panic, family scars, and the clatter of prescription pills. Their touch quiets his racing thoughts, gives him a pause button for pain, and momentarily rescues him from losing the “game” of life.
Yet beneath the sweetness pulses a darker truth: Lomepal fears he may still spiral, even burn in his own private hell, and he begs his lover not to follow him there. The song swings between gratitude and dread, showing how fragile self-discovery can feel when it depends on someone else’s light. Le Vrai Moi is ultimately a bittersweet ode to the power of intimacy to reveal who we really are—while reminding us that time, fear, and our own demons never stop trying to pull us back into the shadows.