Learn French With Bigflo & Oli with these 20 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

“Sur La Lune” is a hopeful roadmap for every dreamer who has ever stared at the night sky and whispered, One day, I’ll get there. Bigflo & Oli turn the Moon into a sparkling metaphor for any distant goal – a reminder that while certainty is impossible, possibility starts the moment you dare to point at it. Verse after verse, the rapper imagines future versions of himself: older, wiser, a father, a wanderer, even a prankster who has finally calmed down. Each scenario ends with the same quiet confession – he is still running, still trembling, still unsure – yet the lunar beacon keeps him moving forward.

The song’s repetition is no accident. It mirrors life’s cycle of doubt and determination, showing how our ambitions stretch far beyond the present moment. By listing everything he will be – strong, sage, free from his mistakes – Bigflo & Oli invite listeners to picture their own “moon,” whether it is personal peace, a long-held dream, or a literal voyage. The takeaway is simple but powerful: you cannot leave Earth, but you can keep orbiting your dreams until, one day, you finally touch them.

Bigflo & Oli turn a confessional diary into a rap postcard with “New York En Décembre.” The verses jump from backstage fatigue to front-row glory, showing how dizzy a rapid rise can feel: one minute he nails sold-out concerts, the next he “hits only the post” on a penalty shot. Luxury watches, croc-skin bags, cash deals and new apartments sparkle throughout the lyrics, yet every brag is quickly shadowed by self-doubt. The brothers joke about quitting, dream of hiding in Tokyo, and wonder where they fit “in the universe,” all while rebooting like robots after tour life.

Behind the witty punchlines lies a deeper critique of the game itself. Bigflo lists the traps of fame— critics who might be right, fans who move on fast, artists who chase clout and build golden cages for themselves. He reminds us that time, not diamonds, is the real treasure, and that success is a climb followed by an inevitable descent. World issues flash by, from consumerism to Palestine, suggesting that while rap might feel like a personal marathon, it still runs through a messy global landscape. The song is both a flex and a therapy session, celebrating resilience as much as it questions the worth of the prize.

“Demain” (Tomorrow) is a heartfelt snapshot of a young person’s everyday chaos. Bigflo & Oli list all the voices tugging at them: parents who want a “proper” career, girlfriends who think the love is fading, neighbors annoyed by arguments, and their own late–night anxieties. The verses read like hurried diary entries, piling up doubts and disappointments until they almost explode. Yet, floating above the turmoil is Petit Biscuit’s airy production, turning all that stress into something you can actually dance to.

The hook is the song’s life-raft: “Ce soir tu danses… ça ira mieux demain” (“Tonight you dance… it’ll be better tomorrow”). Instead of giving perfect answers, the track hands us a simple survival trick: let the night wash over you, move your feet, and trust that morning brings a fresh start. “Demain” is a relatable pep-talk wrapped in smooth electro-rap—perfect for anyone who needs permission to hit pause on their worries and believe, just for a moment, that tomorrow really will feel lighter.

Plus Tard is an upbeat stroll down memory lane where Bigflo & Oli stack together all the funny, magical and slightly irrational things we believed as kids. Monsters under the floor, lava outside the crosswalk, eyelashes that grant wishes – the song piles up these colorful memories like snapshots in an old album, inviting you to grin at your own childhood myths.

Yet the chorus flips the coin: “Tu comprendras plus tard… Mais on est plus tard, et je comprends pas.” Now that “later” has arrived, the singer still feels just as puzzled. Bills, lottery tickets, dirty dishes and the secret hope that parents never die – adulthood turns out to be another chapter of unanswered questions. The message is playful but touching: we never really stop wondering, so keep your curiosity alive and enjoy the ride.

“Londres En Mars” feels like boarding a last-minute train ride with Bigflo & Oli, racing from their first school trip to London to the neon glare of sold-out arenas. The brothers recount how they hopped the turnstile into the rap game “sans ticket,” juggling sudden fame, street scuffles, and online critics while protecting each other like comic-book heroes (Oli the Ace, Bigflo the Joker). In a swirl of pop-culture nods, self-deprecating humor, and razor-sharp wordplay, they question success, legacy, and the comfort money brings, all while dodging the “machines” that turn art into cash.

Beneath the bravado beats a reflective heart: Bigflo meditates on mortality, hides pain behind a poker face, and weighs mixtapes against motherhood when a childhood friend becomes a parent. The song draws a full circle—from counting coins for a souvenir keyring in Oxford Street to headlining that same city—reminding us that fame never erases roots, doubts, or scars. “Londres En Mars” is ultimately a celebration of brotherhood and artistic grit, urging listeners to blend art with tears, ink with ashes and keep evolving, no matter how dizzying the ride.

Sacré Bordel is Bigflo & Oli’s playful yet poignant love-letter to France – a place they adore, question, celebrate, and sometimes want to flee. Line after line, the rappers confess how the tricolor flag can make them squirm, how criticism of presidents feels like a national sport, and how pride only seems to surface during World Cup victories or moments of tragedy. The song zips through crowded Parisian avenues, rural villages, colonial shadows, and immigrant memories, asking who gets to claim “Frenchness” while admitting that the answer is as tangled as a bowl of spaghetti bolognese served with a baguette.

Ultimately, the track is a humorous, heartfelt reminder that identity is messy: you can complain about taxes, sing Brel in the shower, pack Doliprane for every trip, and still cry at the sight of French coastlines. Bigflo & Oli invite listeners to drop the blame game, focus on common ground, and embrace the “sacred mess” that makes France – and any homeland – worth loving. The result is an anthem for anyone who has ever felt both homesick and restless, proud and critical, rooted and uprooted all at once.

Coup de Vieux is a joyful sigh of nostalgia. Bigflo & Oli invite Julien Doré to time-travel through the childhood and teenage memories of millennials: Kapla towers, MSN wizz, Crazy Frog ringtones, Pokémon debates, and late-night marathons of High School Musical. Each rapid-fire reference paints a picture of a carefree era when passing exams without studying, hunting for playground snacks, and dancing badly to Tecktonik felt like life’s biggest challenges. The chorus suddenly hits with a “coup de vieux” — that moment you catch your first grey hair and realise those good old days are already museum pieces.

Beneath the playful roll call of pop-culture souvenirs lies a gentle message. While everyone loves to say “C’était mieux avant” (“It was better before”), the song reminds us that every generation believes the same thing once adulthood creeps in. By laughing at their own aging panic, the artists encourage listeners to cherish memories without getting stuck in them. The past was fun, the present is different, and that’s okay — the important thing is to keep dancing, even if your knees click now.

Cruising through a bus ride, a humming factory, a lonely living room, and a heartbreaking wedding night, Bigflo & Oli turn their song "Dommage" into a collection of mini-films about missed chances. We meet Louis, too shy to talk to the girl who smells like summer; Yasmine, whose golden voice is trapped in assembly-line routine; Diego, who skips the party where his future love is waiting; and Pauline, whose fear keeps her in a violent marriage. After each story the chorus rings out like friends shaking their heads: Il aurait dû y aller... c'est dommage. The phrase means, roughly, "He should have gone for it, what a pity." It is a musical sigh that reminds us how quickly opportunities vanish.

Under the catchy beat lies a rallying cry: take the risk, speak up, chase the dream, walk away from harm. The song’s final mantra, « Vaut mieux vivre avec des remords qu'avec des regrets » – it is better to live with remorse than with regrets – flips the usual fear of failure on its head. Bigflo & Oli invite us to shout, dance, and maybe even book that ticket or make that call before it is too late.

Ça Va Beaucoup Trop Vite is a breathless rap time-machine that zooms from the void before the Big Bang to a dizzying sci-fi future, all in the space of one song. Bigflo & Oli paint history like a fast-forward documentary: particles collide, oceans appear, fish grow legs, humans light fires, build empires, wage wars, craft art, invent money, rockets and smartphones. Each milestone is delivered with playful jokes, pop-culture nods and vivid images that make the listener feel both amazed and alarmed at how quickly everything snowballs.

Behind the energetic wordplay lies a clear warning. Technological leaps, environmental damage, social upheavals and digital overload race ahead so fast that today’s cutting-edge ideas risk becoming tomorrow’s antiques. The track urges us to slow down, remember our roots, protect our planet and choose creativity and empathy over greed. It is equal parts history lesson, sci-fi prophecy and rallying cry, reminding us that although time never stops, we can still decide what kind of future we create.

“Bons Élèves” (Good Students) pulls us backstage into the glamorous, chaotic and sometimes absurd life of Bigflo & Oli, joined by veteran word-smith MC Solaar. The repeated flashes, photos and autograph sessions feel exciting at first, yet the lyrics quickly reveal the darker side of stardom: endless schedules, pressure to please everyone, and the odd emptiness that grows when your private feelings become public merchandise. Over a lively beat, the trio confess how fame turns them into a “product,” forces them to police their image, and tempts them to betray the very values they once rapped about in school.

Beneath the witty punch-lines, the song asks sharp questions: Can an artist stay authentic while feeding fans’ expectations? Is success really the cure for insecurity, or just another mask? By joking about casinos, sex, inflated egos and borrowed stories, the rappers expose their own contradictions and remind us that even “good students” have homework to do on humility. In short, “Bons Élèves” is a catchy self-portrait of ambition, doubt and the delicate balance between art and celebrity – perfect fuel for anyone learning English through music and curious about the real lives behind the spotlight.

"J'étais Pas Là" feels like opening a long-lost group chat from Bigflo & Oli and finding a flood of voice notes. After a two-year digital disappearance, the rapper reappears with playful honesty, admitting he swapped Paris stages for sleepy beaches, binge-watched award shows from his couch, and even learned to fish in Madagascar. Through rapid-fire references to pandemic mask confusion, social-media activism, Daft Punk break-ups, and celebrity excess in Dubai, he pokes fun at how quickly trends replace artists while confessing his own fears of being forgotten. The chant-like hook – “J’étais pas là, mais j’ai rien raté” – drives home the message: stepping away from the online whirlpool might feel risky, yet real life keeps its most important lessons offline.

By mixing self-deprecating humor with sharp cultural snapshots, the song doubles as a comeback anthem and a reality check. Bigflo & Oli remind us that chasing likes, clout, or perfect public images is exhausting; true happiness can be as simple as sharing Animal Crossing sessions with a partner or mastering a good knot on a fishing boat. Their return is equal parts celebration and cautionary tale – proof that disappearing for a while does not mean missing out, and that the best story to post might just be the one you live away from the screen.

Rentrez Chez Vous invites you to flip the script and picture your hometown under siege. From the opening line where the Eiffel Tower is blasted into rubble, Bigflo & Oli thrust us into a France ravaged by war, families torn apart, phones cut off, and trains crammed with desperate people. The narrator’s frantic search for loved ones leads him on a perilous escape across the Mediterranean, only to be met by barbed wire, suspicion, and the chilling insult, “Rentrez chez vous” (“Go back home”).

By swapping the usual roles – turning French citizens into refugees – the song forces listeners to feel the heartbreak, fear, and indignity that displaced people endure every day. It highlights our dual nature (“Les hommes sont capables de merveilles et des pires folies”): we can build iconic landmarks and show compassion, yet also unleash violence and xenophobia. In just a few vivid verses, Bigflo & Oli transform a distant headline into a personal nightmare, urging us to trade judgment for empathy and remember that nobody leaves home unless home has left them first.

Insolent 4 is a high-energy victory lap where Bigflo & Oli celebrate their rise from small venues to stadium spectacles. Every line is a cheeky boast: gold records pile up, festivals sell out, and even their tax bill is big enough to fund a hater’s little brother’s school lunches. The hook, “Fais monter les stats, kiffez les stades” (Make the numbers climb, enjoy the stadiums), captures their mood perfectly. Between laughs, they aim sharp jabs at rivals who pad their streams, stumble through tiny showcases, or dream of stages the brothers have already conquered.

Yet beneath the swagger sits a lesson in hard work and self-belief. They remind listeners that years of late-night studio sessions and relentless touring built this success long before luxury jets and designer vacations arrived. The track flips between playful arrogance and flashes of humility: one brother calls the other “the humble one,” and both admit the mic can be a dangerous weapon. In the end, Insolent 4 is both a warning and an invitation: if you want to talk, catch them at the top – because they are too busy breaking records and booking arenas to look back.

Fasten your seat-belt and hop on a musical TGV: in “Bienvenue Chez Moi,” Bigflo & Oli turn a rap track into a joyful postcard that zips through Bordeaux, Lyon, Marseille, Lille, Paris, Strasbourg, Toulouse and even detours to Belgium, Switzerland, Corsica and La Réunion. Each stopover is painted with playful stereotypes and local treasures — cannelés in Bordeaux, kugelhopf in Strasbourg, beer by the Manneken Pis, and an enormous mechanical elephant roaming Nantes. The brothers poke fun at rivalries (Lyon vs. Saint-Étienne), admire breathtaking landscapes, and savour the regional accents that make every corner of the Francophone world feel distinct.

Beneath the humor, the song carries a warm message of unity and pride. The chorus invites everyone, whether from a “grand ville” or “p’tit village,” to come “chez moi,” reminding listeners that hospitality, diversity and shared love of good food and music are the true landmarks of France. By the time the beat returns to their beloved hometown Toulouse, you feel like you have travelled the entire hexagon and made friends in every carriage.

Pour Un Pote is a humorous yet heartfelt declaration of extreme friendship. Over a rapid-fire list of outrageous promises — from giving away lottery winnings to learning Chinese in Scotland — Bigflo & Oli paint a cartoonish picture of the lengths someone might go to help a buddy. Each over-the-top scenario is both funny and relatable, showing how friendship can feel limitless when loyalty and affection take over.

Beneath the jokes lies a real question: How far is too far, and would your friend do the same for you? Jean Dujardin’s playful interjections tease out this doubt, reminding listeners that true companionship is chosen, not owed, and that genuine support is measured in shared laughs more than grand gestures. The song ultimately celebrates the messy, priceless bond we call friendship, inviting us to laugh at the exaggerations while recognizing the sincere love at its core.

“Nous Aussi” is a playful yet fiery manifesto in which Bigflo & Oli crash-land into the French rap scene and proudly announce that they are here to shake things up. They juggle lightning-fast flows, clever wordplay, and tongue-in-cheek boasts to prove that, even at a young age, they can out-rap the veterans. Between punchlines, we hear their mom calling them to dinner, reminders that they are still regular kids from Toulouse. This mix of bravado and everyday realism makes their confidence feel fresh rather than arrogant.

Beneath the humor lies a sharper critique. The brothers poke fun at rappers who glorify guns, money, and flashy lifestyles while neglecting lyrical skill and social responsibility. They reject that hollow image, calling for authenticity, clarity, and heart. The track becomes both a celebration of their own talent and a rallying cry for a return to meaningful hip-hop. By the final chorus they invite listeners to “leave Earth” with them, suggesting that anyone looking for honest, skillful rap is welcome on their journey. Far from just bragging, “Nous Aussi” is a cheeky love letter to rap’s past and a promise of its brighter future.

Bigflo & Oli turn the simple phrase “Je suis” into a kaleidoscope of voices. In just a few minutes, the song jumps from a prisoner staring at his own reflection to a millionaire defending his success, from a newborn’s first breath to an elderly person afraid of being forgotten. We meet believers praying in the street, immigrants writing hopeful postcards, students who finally graduate, teachers guiding crowded classrooms, lovers fighting prejudice, workers who built a nation they are told is not theirs, and many more. Each short vignette paints a vivid picture of everyday France, showing how wildly different one life can be from the next—even when everyone starts by saying the exact same two words: I am.

The magic happens when all those separate stories snap together. By the time the chorus cries out “Je suis la France,” the listener realizes that the true subject of the song is collective identity. Rich or poor, sick or healthy, rooted or uprooted, believer or skeptic, every character adds a brushstroke to one shared portrait. The track is both a celebration and a challenge: celebrate the incredible variety that makes a country vibrant, and challenge yourself to see the human behind every label. It is a musical reminder that understanding others begins with listening to the many ways they say, “I am.”

“Alors Alors” feels like a frantic phone call that never connects. Bigflo & Oli’s narrator talks to a vanished friend, replaying old memories – late-night couch talks, big travel plans, shared dreams – while every attempt to reach him hits a dead line. The repeated Alors, alors… (“So, so…”) captures both impatience and heartbreak as rumors swirl: did the friend find paradise, get lost chasing an Eldorado, or meet a tragic end? The song’s racing questions, unanswered calls, and globe-spanning search paint a vivid picture of friendship put on pause.

Beneath the playful wordplay and catchy chorus lies a deeper message about promises, distance, and the fear of growing apart. “Alors Alors” reminds us how much a single silence can hurt, how memories keep people alive in our minds, and how hope lingers even when every voicemail is met with static. It is a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has ever waited too long for a reply, wondering where the good times went and if they will ever come back.

Aujourd'hui is Bigflo & Oli’s musical pep-talk for anyone who keeps saying “one day” but never starts. The lyrics fire off a rapid-list of ordinary dreams that feel extraordinary when you decide to act: writing the best verse of a career, finally talking to a crush, learning guitar, phoning old friends, even hitching a round-the-world trip right after class. By repeating “Aujourd’hui je fais” (Today I do) instead of “I’ll do it tomorrow,” the brothers turn the song into a stopwatch counting down the seconds we waste hesitating.

Between playful fantasies like winning the lottery and tender promises to call Mom, the track reminds us that life slips by fast and regret is the real enemy. Happiness is not about money or swagger; it is the pride you read in the eyes of the people you love when you actually follow through. So the message is clear: lace up, step to the starting line, and sprint into the present while it is still today.

Personne is a witty yet hard-hitting wake-up call. Over an upbeat, crowd-pleasing instrumental, Bigflo & Oli list a whirlwind of harsh realities: homeless youth under a bridge, addicts chasing relief, lonely pop stars, political hypocrisy, wars in Syria and Palestine, environmental fears, even their own mother’s fight against cancer. Every line is a snapshot of pain or injustice the duo wants to spotlight, but the catchy chorus keeps repeating that “nobody listens to the lyrics.”

The song is a clever paradox. It sounds like a party anthem—hands in the air, pan-pan-pan ad-libs—yet its true goal is to expose how easily serious messages get drowned out by the search for easy fun, flashy bodies, and mindless hooks. Bigflo & Oli challenge us to break the cycle: enjoy the beat, but keep our ears and hearts open to the stories hidden inside the music.