JE NE PLAISANTE PAS Lyrics in English Kery James

Below, I translated the lyrics of the song JE NE PLAISANTE PAS by Kery James from French to English.
Intro
I'm calling you, answer
I swear, don't be stupid
I heard rumors
If you wanna take me out, you die
And not from a tumor
I'm not in the mood
I'm calling you, answer
I'm this close
To blowing a fuse
Beware the sleeping ego
Because the Devil
Isn't dead
I'm just a man
Who tries
To be better than yesterday
Nothing guarantees I'll make it
You hear me?
Nothing guarantees my reason
Beats my hate
You hear me?
Few things
Scare me
More than myself
I'm on a razor's edge
My impulses
Wage war on my duties
I feel too close to the fire
When I feel
Too far from God
This close
To blowing a fuse
This close
To making the lead speak
I've known you a long time
But you talk too much
This close to cutting ties
No
This close to cutting yours
If you betray me and threaten
My people's safety
Revenge
A dish best served frozen
This close to coming back strapped
This close
To smashing the barriers
To taking the lead
To cover my back
Family first
We'll see about my career
I can be vicious
Like a hustler from the struggle
This close to getting revenge
This close to spilling blood
This close
This close to diving in
This close to giving in
To my dark side
This close
This close to finding them
This close to lifting them
I'm this close to putting them down
To wrecking
Everything I've worked for
I'm this close
To going on the run
This close
This close
To catching a heavy sentence
Mom doesn't know it's going bad
I'm this close
This close
To making yours cry
I'm this close to snapping
Aiming at the head
Smashing all my plans
You have no idea
About the bad thoughts
I get hit with
Since they
Tried to get me
I think I'm having
Panic attacks
Yeah?
You tried getting help?
Me, go see a shrink?
You ever seen a Black dude
At a shrink's?
I'm not joking
I'm this close
About shooting into the crowd
I won't hesitate
If I don't have a choice
There's a Demba
Sleeping inside me
All my youth
I defied the State
In the name of the outcasts and pariahs
Like Hakim Sid
I come from the proletariat
We don't talk
At the station
Don't mess with me
Don't mess with me
Don't mess with me
Don't laugh with me
For refusing to comply
You get smoked by a scumbag
No witness, no case if you're not filmed
All your folks will have left
Are their eyes to cry
Each of our tears
Is flammable
This close to giving in
To macabre urges
They wanna dance
On our corpses
One fist, six to kill an Arab
The message is clear
For them, our lives
Aren't worth much
We got it
When you're at war
Against Russia
Don't come looking
For soldiers from the projects
I'm this close to leaving this country
That has nothing but contempt for us
They don't like what I believe
What I say, what I am
But they want half
Of what I earned
Students don't have enough
To eat
High schools without heating
You wonder where you are
Teacher shortage
But what keeps them busy
Is measuring the length
Of skirts
I'm this close to leaving this country
Of hypocrite racists
Jealous, bitter
They don't like what I believe
What I say, what I am
But they want half
Of what I earned
The State does nothing
To heal the divide
Those who have nothing
Pay the bill
Where are your petitions
For your pensions?
Under the riot cops' boots
I'm this close to punching the sheriff
To leaving my ride on the beltway
To setting the hood on fire
To putting on a yellow vest
I'm not joking
I'm this close
About shooting into the crowd
I won't hesitate if I don't have a choice
There's a Demba asleep inside me
All my youth, I defied the State
In the name of the outcasts and pariahs
Like Hakim Sid
I come from the proletariat
We don't talk
At the station
Don't mess with me
Don't mess with me
Don't mess with me
Don't laugh with me
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SONG MEANING

Je Ne Plaisante Pas is Kery James with the safety off. Throughout the track he repeats that he is “à deux doigts” – only a hair’s-breadth – from losing control, resorting to violence, or abandoning France altogether. That tension becomes a metaphor for the daily balancing act faced by people from the banlieues: juggling family loyalty, faith, pride and raw anger while the state, the police and a judgmental society keep pressing on the trigger. The result is a song that feels like walking on a razor’s edge, where every bar is a warning flare saying, “Do not test me.”

Beneath the threats lies a sharp social critique. Kery paints a country where poverty, racism and political hypocrisy push the marginalized toward desperate choices. He references police brutality, under-funded schools, economic injustice and the unhealed wounds of colonial history. Yet he also shows self-awareness: the real battle is inside him, between his better judgment and the rage of a “Demba” that “sleeps” within. The message is clear: society must address these systemic wrongs, or the explosions he describes may no longer be just lyrics. It’s a powerful blend of personal confession and political alarm bell, delivered with the urgency of someone who really isn’t joking.

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