Baraque Au Bled Lyrics in English by Djadja & Dinaz

Below, I translated the lyrics of the song Baraque Au Bled by Djadja & Dinaz from French to English.
These lyrics have verified word for word translations. Click any lyric word to see the translation and hear the pronunciation!
Chorus 1
She knows I'm at war, I'm capable
You're blown away by how well I do it
I don't feel much pain anymore in the M Pack
I realize it leads nowhere
If I have to, I'll hurt someone
But for now, I'm doing it well
There's no heart left under the bulletproof vest
I see clearly, even on lean
Postchorus 1
We want houses back home
To have a Qatari's money
I'm broke, but hand me the dirt bike
I'll show you there's no faking with me
Wait two or three more years
And God willing, I'll marry you
We're mighty like the 300
No need to be built big
Verse 1
I had my crew at Vilar, at Coubert
At the Greta, at Baudelaire and Moissan
You know we wanted the villa
In spiked sneakers in the hood, I was steering in the buyers
You don't know what went down
So buddy, don't call me 'bro'
I'm overwhelmed
I see so many things that make no sense
There's bad luck that
Keeps circling around us
We wanted a vacation
I said 'Guys, we need cash'
Chorus 2
She knows I'm at war, I'm capable
You're blown away by how well I do it
I don't feel much pain anymore in the M Pack
I realize it leads nowhere
If I have to, I'll hurt someone
But for now, I'm doing it well
There's no heart left under the bulletproof vest
I see clearly, even on lean
Postchorus 2
We want, we want houses back home
To have a Qatari's money
I'm broke, but hand me the dirt bike
I'll show you there's no faking with me
Wait two or three more years
And God willing, I'll marry you
We're mighty like the 300
No need to be built big
Verse 2
Me, I just follow my plan
I count my money, I count my time
I'm not stupid, I get it
What are you on about, big guy?
I was in a really bad way, I was riding around
I was headed down a really bad road
There are bad guys who are good
There are good guys who've lost their minds
What I gave, I didn't give for my own gain
To lock away my sorrows, 1 terabyte isn't enough
I was a minor, I ran a dealing spot
I had to lie low and I rode around on two wheels
Terminal 2T, I land
The call pinged at D2 in Fleury
A lot of plants have withered
And one corner of the garden has bloomed
Postchorus 3
We want houses back home
To have a Qatari's money
I'm broke, but hand me the dirt bike
I'll show you there's no faking with me
Wait two or three more years
And God willing, I'll marry you
We're mighty like the 300
No need to be built big
Chorus 3
She knows I'm at war, I'm capable
You're blown away by how well I do it
I don't feel much pain anymore in the M Pack
I realize it leads nowhere
If I have to, I'll hurt someone
But for now, I'm doing it well
There's no heart left under the bulletproof vest
I see clearly, even on lean
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Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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bled — homeland / village

Bled is a fascinating and culturally rich word that literally translates to "homeland" or "village," often referring to one's ancestral village or country of origin, particularly in North Africa.

In "Baraque Au Bled," Djadja & Dinaz use it to express a common aspiration within their community: to build "baraques au bled" (houses in the homeland). This signifies a desire for success and a return to their roots, investing in their family's origins. It's a word that carries deep cultural meaning beyond a simple translation.

The hook is a wish list from the Meaux tower blocks: "On veut des baraques au bled" (We want houses back home), "Avoir le bif d'un Qatari" (To have a Qatari's money), and a promise to a girl that comes with a deadline, "Attends encore deux-trois ans" (Wait two or three more years). The bled is the family's home country, and a house built there is the classic proof that the money made in France was real. The chorus answers from the other side of that dream: "Y a plus d'cœur sous l'pare-balles" (There's no heart left under the bulletproof vest), a narrator who can hurt people if he has to but says that for now he's doing things right.

The verses fill in how he got here. Djadja & Dinaz list the schools they passed through in Meaux, then the street job that replaced them: "J'étais mineur, j'tenais un terrain" (I was a minor, I ran a dealing spot). A phone call gets traced to a building at Fleury-Mérogis, the prison south of Paris, and the verse closes on a garden image, "Y a grave des plantes qu'ont fané" (A lot of plants have withered) / "Et y a un coin du jardin qu'a fleuri" (And one corner of the garden has bloomed): most of the people he grew up with didn't make it out, and a few did.

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