#musique - Hello Poetry

Musique pour Anaïs: Tut tut tut tut par Gillian Hills https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-sN21hNaeEA Allez, tout le monde ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tut Tut Tut Tut Tut Tut Tut Tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Well, it’s been like this since ten this morning Voilà c'est comme ça depuis dix heures ce matin It’s not free, it’s not free Ce n'est pas libre, ce n'est pas libre I feel the anger making my hands shake Je sens la colère qui me fait trembler les mains It’s not free, it’s not free Ce n'est pas libre, ce n'est pas libre I’m losing my cool listening to that tune Je perd mon sang froid en écoutant cet air-là Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut I’ve tried everything, but it’s the same every time J'ai tout essayé, mais c'est pareil chaque fois It’s not free, it’s not free Ce n'est pas libre, ce n'est pas libre I called from the little café downstairs J'ai téléphoné du petit café en bas It’s not free, it’s not free Ce n'est pas libre, ce n'est pas libre They’re mocking me every time I hear that song Se moquant de moi chaque fois j'entends cet air-là Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Yet I could’ve sworn that boy loved me Pourtant j'aurais juré que ce garçon m'aimait After he kissed me, he said I’ll never forget you Arès m'avoir embrassée il me disait jamais je ne t'oublierai But the phone seems to whisper in my ear Mais le téléphone semble me dire à l'oreille He’s not free, he’s not free Il n'est pas libre, il n'est pas libre That heart he promised you, he gave it away yesterday Ce cœur qu'il t'a promis, il l'avait donné la veille He’s not free anymore, he’s not free anymore Il n'est plus libre, il n'est plus libre And you’ll think of it every time you hear Et tu y penseras chaque fois que tu entendras Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut It’s not free, it’s not free Ce n'est pas libre, ce n'est pas libre Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut Tut tut tut tut tut tut tut

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Mar 30

Mar 30, 2026 at 3:11 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Musique pour Anais: Tut tut tut tut par Gillian Hills

52

in books, wings belong to those who are free, under the skies! Transmission tree Knowledge lost one two three Tomorrow, I lose today I win The gamble makes us go crazy He takes drugs / like that It's always the same circus act Day by day, I shrink Seven at home, a ****** life We pull off stunts, we score points Always in the game, man Enough joking around, it's our junk You have to have guts, make some money or end up Being really rich isn't cheating To please to the point of making others proud I think it gives me ideas of strength Sometimes you do better and better every day And the wheel turns, you have a blast Not true; but it's almost the same. The state lies, the system is rigged, it bites, man We pull on the rope, hang you from the beam We flirt with death, the others can go **** themselves You'll never be rich, ******* you're crazy, ******* But you're crazy, I'll **** him, yeah, no messing around These guys, their ***** go ahead, little one, play the poet Break into a bottle of bitter flame May everything burn in my mother's eyes at night Victory is ours. Victory is noted Sad Chopin piano in C minor and badly spoken in truth The bench is empty, the kids are into poppies We dispel problems with acid spray Men's body hair, all big lost souls, easy I'm talking about your rouqthhugcgotic, the mood is tracksuit and we're freaking out Want the sit', the pit eats the bowl, we sell **** we make oinchi office to No room for us in the molar's **** at the back of the class Very stingy with soul, you know where the problem is, we're from where the baths steal our dreams No future, no present, just business, all non-binary, just the kikishtameregros We all go into the zin, among themselves they don't know the sulfur, blow the sticky ash Wait, on this fat beat I take off, pass the ***** girl, I'll give you a ****** like drags, 25 cm, just the street, hard From the straight line, no time, traitors, nothing, fire I want that income like a snob, I'm high, the beatdowns, we only know how to do that But it won't make the money, I only want it in the back Kilk, bro, slam poetry, poets, that's not the thing Life devoured by the world of different people We're getting used to it, nothing but the dowry for the female dog It's in the book, so go laugh at me, ******* The world is too late, we manage to take everything I'm sixteen, I'm behind the door, yeah, the blood, what's it saying, the money's sleeping, the rank What they say at the ball is doing something long. Everything is so small since we've been dragging our hatred, he died from that one Now the barbarians are us, Pablo Escobar!

0

Feb 4

Feb 4, 2026 at 11:55 AM UTC

akn

triple ***

in books, wings belong to those who are free, under the skies! Transmission tree Knowledge lost one two three Tomorrow, I lose today I win The gamble makes us go crazy He takes drugs / like that It's always the same circus act Day by day, I shrink Seven at home, a ****** life We pull off stunts, we score points Always in the game, man Enough joking around, it's our junk You have to have guts, make some money or end up Being really rich isn't cheating To please to the point of making others proud I think it gives me ideas of strength Sometimes you do better and better every day And the wheel turns, you have a blast Not true; but it's almost the same. The state lies, the system is rigged, it bites, man We pull on the rope, hang you from the beam We flirt with death, the others can go **** themselves You'll never be rich, ******* you're crazy, ******* But you're crazy, I'll **** him, yeah, no messing around These guys, their ***** go ahead, little one, play the poet Break into a bottle of bitter flame May everything burn in my mother's eyes at night Victory is ours. Victory is noted Sad Chopin piano in C minor and badly spoken in truth The bench is empty, the kids are into poppies We dispel problems with acid spray Men's body hair, all big lost souls, easy I'm talking about your rouqthhugcgotic, the mood is tracksuit and we're freaking out Want the sit', the pit eats the bowl, we sell **** we make oinchi office to No room for us in the molar's **** at the back of the class Very stingy with soul, you know where the problem is, we're from where the baths steal our dreams No future, no present, just business, all non-binary, just the kikishtameregros We all go into the zin, among themselves they don't know the sulfur, blow the sticky ash Wait, on this fat beat I take off, pass the ***** girl, I'll give you a ****** like drags, 25 cm, just the street, hard From the straight line, no time, traitors, nothing, fire I want that income like a snob, I'm high, the beatdowns, we only know how to do that But it won't make the money, I only want it in the back Kilk, bro, slam poetry, poets, that's not the thing Life devoured by the world of different people We're getting used to it, nothing but the dowry for the female dog It's in the book, so go laugh at me, ******* The world is too late, we manage to take everything I'm sixteen, I'm behind the door, yeah, the blood, what's it saying, the money's sleeping, the rank What they say at the ball is doing something long. Everything is so small since we've been dragging our hatred, he died from that one Now the barbarians are us, Pablo Escobar!

48

Au coin de cet organe, Y caressant ses cordes sensibles, Ma Muse Toscane Joue de sa lyre irrésistible. Un son, pour chaque mot D'amour qui deviennent Inspiration ; et le tempo S'adoucit, d'aussi **** que je m'en souvienne ! Car il n'y a que le cerveau Qui s'imagine que l'italienne Devrait m'offrir sa peau de porcelaine. Mon pauvre cerveau, Cet espèce d'organe maso, Me pense libertino !

0

Apr 21, 2025

Apr 21, 2025 at 3:35 PM UTC

R_Zackicaro

Le tabou de mon subconscient

Au coin de cet organe, Y caressant ses cordes sensibles, Ma Muse Toscane Joue de sa lyre irrésistible. Un son, pour chaque mot D'amour qui deviennent Inspiration ; et le tempo S'adoucit, d'aussi **** que je m'en souvienne ! Car il n'y a que le cerveau Qui s'imagine que l'italienne Devrait m'offrir sa peau de porcelaine. Mon pauvre cerveau, Cet espèce d'organe maso, Me pense libertino !

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