Learn French With Grand Corps Malade with these 22 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Derrière Le Brouillard is a moving duet where Grand Corps Malade’s spoken-word poetry intertwines with Louane’s luminous vocals to paint one clear message: when life is darkest, music can be your lighthouse. The “fog” represents personal hardship, the moments when tragedies pour and there is “no recipe” to keep going. Yet, in that obscurity, a distant piano begins to sing, carrying hope, tempting the listener to believe that everything can be reinvented.

Both artists share how they have instinctively grabbed onto song for survival—like breathing, like a child’s reflex. By joining their voices they transform pain into courage, proving that creativity is not just a pastime but a lifeline. The track invites you to do the same: let melody guide you through the storm, turn vulnerability into strength, and emerge on the other side of the fog ready to rewrite your story.

Feeling the heat to pick a side, Grand Corps Malade and his two lyrical allies turn the spotlight on the artist’s eternal dilemma: Should I shout my truth or stay in my lane? The verses describe friends, journalists, and total strangers who tug at the trio’s sleeves and bark orders: Sign this petition. Back that candidate. Comment on every tragedy. The pressure cooker hisses louder when the same crowd instantly flips and tells them to shut up and sing. Caught in this noisy tug-of-war, the rappers confess their own doubts about legitimacy, expertise, and the fear of sounding preachy.

The chorus answers with both humility and fire. I only know what I’ve lived, Grand Corps Malade reminds us, mentioning ten years in hospital beds, the sting of loss, and the comfort of music. He owns the limits of a song—no track alone will topple governments—but he refuses to be ornamental background noise. Instead, he chooses the middle path: ask tough questions, spark reflection, and stay honest about what he truly knows. La Cause is not a sermon. It is a bright, self-aware manifesto that invites listeners to dance, think, and maybe find the courage to raise their own questions, too.

Ce Que J'aime is like flipping through the pages of Grand Corps Malade’s personal scrapbook. Line by line, he shares the little things that make his heart beat faster: wandering the streets of Paris at dawn, eavesdropping on lively café chatter, feeling the freedom of a nighttime road trip with only the radio for company, or savoring the silence next to someone he loves. Each scene feels ordinary at first glance, but the artist turns it into poetry that celebrates curiosity, travel, friendship, and romance.

At the core of the song is a gentle revelation: the more he enjoys these simple moments, the more he learns to appreciate himself—and it is all thanks to the people who orbit his life. The chorus reminds us that love, family, and creativity help us grow a little kinder to ourselves. By the end, “Ce Que J’aime” becomes an uplifting checklist of everyday wonders, urging listeners to notice the quiet magic hiding in their own routines.

“Souvenirs Manqués” feels like a morning-after phone call that went spectacularly wrong. Grand Corps Malade dials a woman he met the night before, hoping to relive a magical evening, but she answers with a chilly “C’est qui ?” and remembers nothing at all. While he is bursting with vivid details — the taxi ride, the stars, their laughter — she draws a total blank. The song plays out as a witty back-and-forth: his flood of nostalgia collides with her amnesia, turning their conversation into a bittersweet comedy of mis-matched memories.

Behind the playful dialogue lies a deeper reflection on how selectively our minds store moments. One person can be overwhelmed by sentimental snapshots while the other carries on carefree, leaving souvenirs manqués — missing memories — in their wake. The track mixes spoken-word poetry, jazzy vocals from Melody Gardot, and a conversational script to remind us that feelings are not always mutual, and that even the most unforgettable nights can disappear for half of the people who lived them.

“Nos Plus Belles Années” is a tender conversation between past and future, where Grand Corps Malade’s signature slam meets Kimberose’s soulful vocals. Together they look back on the carefree days of childhood camps, endless laughter, and the “insolente innocence” that once made life feel light. While nostalgia lightly tugs at their sleeves, they refuse to stay prisoners of yesterday; instead they invite us to open our eyes, face the wind, and carry those golden memories as gentle fuel for what comes next.

The song balances melancholy and hope, acknowledging imperfect moments yet turning them into trophies that brighten tomorrow. By picturing a playful “marriage between nostalgia and destiny,” the artists remind us that our best years are not lost in the rear-view mirror — they can be revived and even surpassed if we dare to dream forward. It is a moving ode to embracing the sweetness of what was, stitching it into the fabric of what will be, and celebrating a future made richer by every laugh and lesson already lived.

À Chacun Sa Bohème is Grand Corps Malade’s warm invitation to stroll back through the carefree backstreets of his youth. Over a laid-back piano and gentle beats, the French slam poet paints Saint-Denis as his personal playground: a café terrace, a few close friends, cheap omelette-fries, and endless conversations about saving the world. In those moments, hardships and poetry mingled so naturally that they became an emblem of happiness itself.

Years later, he returns to the same streets and finds the magic has faded, yet the memories still sparkle with bittersweet charm. The song reminds us that everyone has their own version of « bohème »—a time when dreams overflowed, creativity burned through sleepless nights, and life felt beautifully unpolished. Celebrating nostalgia without regret, Grand Corps Malade tips his hat to the past while encouraging listeners to cherish the unique bohemian chapter etched in their own stories.

Grand Corps Malade turns carpe diem into a slam anthem in C'est Aujourd'hui Que Ça Se Passe. Behind his calm voice, the French word-smith reminds us that being “peaceful and patient” is not the same as being passive. The lyrics urge us to pick our battles, quit procrastinating, and act right now because the future is built in the present.

He flips the usual complaint-filled small talk on its head: instead of grumbling about the world, why not jump in and fix it? Climate, solidarity, simple happiness — everything is on the to-do list, and the deadline is today. With a playful shout-out to the time-traveling DeLorean, Grand Corps Malade makes it clear that the most radical move isn’t to escape to the future, but to invest in the moment we already have. The song is a rhythmic pep-talk that turns “later” into “let’s go” and turns everyday listeners into potential changemakers.

Have you ever wished you could swap bodies just for a day and see how “the other half” really lives? Pendant 24 H turns that fantasy into a witty, eye-opening sprint through everyday life. Over a laid-back beat, Grand Corps Malade imagines himself as a woman racing from office emails to school runs, dodging cat-callers, feeling the pay gap pinch, and juggling the invisible “mental load.” Then Suzane flips the script and dreams of being a man, reveling in the freedom from biological clocks and beauty rituals while poking fun at stereotypical macho perks like sidewalk pit-stops and uninterrupted gaming.

The song is playful, but its humor shines a bright light on real gender inequalities—unequal pay, street harassment, double standards about appearance, and the pressure to have children. By letting each artist step into the other’s shoes for just 24 hours, the track invites listeners to laugh, nod in recognition, and most of all reflect on how small daily experiences add up to big social gaps. It’s empathy set to music, backed by clever wordplay and a catchy chorus that asks: what would you learn if you could live the “ultimate nuance” from the inside?

“On A Pris Le Temps” is a heartfelt reminder that success and hustle lose their sparkle if we forget to breathe. Grand Corps Malade, joined by Ben Mazué and Gaël Faye, paints the picture of a life crammed with studio sessions, trains, haircuts, doctor appointments, gigs, and family duties. The verses tick off an almost comic list of things they’ve “taken” — taxis, headaches, their son’s hand — until the artists admit they have not taken the one thing that really matters: time.

The chorus opens a window of calm: right “in the middle of the world,” they finally stretch the seconds and rediscover a quiet, blank page where inspiration and peace return. The song celebrates carving out a small paradise amid the chaos, suggesting that true failure is not in falling short but in never giving ourselves the chance to try — and to rest. It is both a plea and a promise to slow down, savor moments, and let life answer back when we finally stop running long enough to listen.

J'ai Vu De La Lumière follows Grand Corps Malade as he drifts through three very different seasons of life: a grey routine, a guarded heart and a world full of bad news. Each time, something suddenly shines—a smoky bar where slam poetry is blooming, a woman whose presence eclipses everything else, and a long-lost friend named Confidence. The refrain “J'ai vu d'la lumière, alors je suis entré” (I saw some light, so I went in) turns those moments into a motto. It reminds us that magic often hides behind an open door; we just have to notice the glow and step inside.

With his trademark spoken-word flow, the artist turns everyday chance encounters into turning points. The song celebrates curiosity, spontaneity and the power of saying yes. No matter the season—autumn mood, spring love or winter worries—there is always a beam of light ready to guide us toward creativity, romance or renewed faith in ourselves. Grand Corps Malade invites listeners to keep their eyes and hearts open; the next spark might be waiting right around the corner.

Le Jour d’après paints three vivid portraits: a brave 9-year-old battling cancer behind hospital walls, a 50-something factory worker suddenly thrust into unemployment and homelessness, and a young party-goer who loses both legs in a crash. Each life is turned upside down, yet every character clings to an inner spark that refuses to go out. Their common thread is a raw, almost stubborn hope, a determination to picture the day after when treatments are over, when a new career is found, when carbon-fiber legs sprint again.

Grand Corps Malade turns these individual struggles into a universal anthem for anyone facing hardship. He salutes the “guerriers imposés” – the imposed warriors – showing that courage is not reserved for superheroes but surfaces in ordinary people when life gives them no choice. The song reminds us that even when the present feels unbearable, looking toward le jour d’après can transform fear into fuel and the will to survive into the power to rebuild.

"Tailler La Route" throws you right into a friendly tug-of-war between comfort and curiosity. From the first lines, Grand Corps Malade is standing on his familiar terrace, happily surveying the neighborhood he loves, yet the breeze of adventure keeps messing up his thoughts. Turning forty feels like a crossroads: stay in the safe nest or shake off decades of routine and set his sneakers on fire? Joined by Ben Mazué and Gaël Faye, he weighs the pros and cons with humor, candor, and a dash of poetic swagger.

The chorus mantra — tailler la route (literally “to cut the road,” meaning “to hit the road”) — becomes a call to taste distant sunsets, learn new shades of moonlight, and collect stories that will glow behind the eyelids at night. The three voices each bring their own spin: one is granite-strong yet soft-hearted, another dreams of islands and starry skies, while the last admits that sometimes the best way to love the people around you is to step away and recharge. Together they craft a vivid invitation to chase the wide open, confront inner fears, and come back wiser, lighter, and soul-healthy.

Pas Essentiel is Grand Corps Malade’s cheeky love letter to all the tiny pleasures we missed during lockdown. Over a relaxed beat, the French slam poet narrates his first walk outside: feeling sunlight on rooftops, sitting on a bench, sharing silent smiles with strangers. Each scene is punctuated by the tongue-in-cheek refrain "pas essentiel", the same label the authorities gave these simple joys when the world shut down. The irony highlights how so-called non-essential moments actually splash color onto everyday life.

In the second half he turns the volume – and the sarcasm – up: clinking glasses with strangers, dancing at concerts, hugging anyone in reach, then jokingly telling us not to listen because the song itself is "not essential." By repeating the phrase until it unravels, he flips pandemic vocabulary on its head and shows that life is built on the supposedly superfluous. The takeaway is clear: protect the futile, celebrate the "super fous," and never underestimate a real smile, a good book, or live music – they may be "pas essentiel" but they keep the human heart beating.

Mais Je T'aime is a raw, intimate conversation where two voices admit their cracks and bruises while stubbornly declaring, I love you. Grand Corps Malade’s gravelly spoken-word verses meet Camille Lellouche’s soaring vocals, creating a push-and-pull between doubt and devotion. Each line exposes past wounds, yet every chorus erupts with the same unwavering refrain, proving that even damaged hearts can beat loudly in unison.

The song paints love as a blazing fire: it crackles, glows and warms, but it can also scorch the skin of anyone who gets too close. The pair recall how their initial spark became an uncontrollable blaze fed by excess and passion. Still, they stand beside the flames, accepting vulnerability as the price of genuine connection. In the end, Mais Je T'aime says that loving imperfectly is better than not loving at all, and that the most fragile relationships can shine the brightest when both partners choose to keep the fire alive.

Grand Corps Malade opens Des Gens Beaux with a mock radio rant where shallow critics complain that today’s singers are “talented” instead of simply “beautiful.” This tongue-in-cheek dialogue sets up the whole song: an ironic hymn to glossy magazine good looks. Throughout the verses, he repeats the demand “Il faut des gens beaux” (“We need beautiful people”) so often that it starts to sound absurd. The effect is funny, yet it also throws a spotlight on how easily society can value a perfect face over a powerful voice or sincere lyrics.

The slam artist then flips the script. He points out that French legends such as Charles Aznavour, Édith Piaf, and Georges Brassens never fit fashion-model standards, yet their music is timeless. By praising singer-songwriter Hoshi—who is sometimes mocked for her looks—he reminds us that true artistry comes from guts, emotion, and originality. In short, the song is a playful but pointed critique of superficiality in the music industry, urging listeners to find beauty in authenticity rather than airbrushed perfection.

Le Sens De La Famille feels like inviting your loved ones to sit around a big kitchen table, then handing each of them the microphone. Grand Corps Malade and Leïla Bekhti trade spoken-word lines that celebrate the irreplaceable role of those who shape us: parents who guide, siblings who tease, friends who become honorary relatives. Money, fame, fancy menus—all of that fades next to the simple comfort of knowing who is seated beside you. In this “team with no substitutes,” silence is never awkward, joy is shared, and even hardship becomes bearable because the huddle is tight.

The song shifts tenderly into parenthood, where love detonates in the heart and sleep-deprived nights are rewarded with a single child’s smile. Its message widens again: family is not only blood, but every soul that knows your laugh, finishes your sentences, or speaks to you “with their mouth closed” because the bond is that strong. By the final verse, you feel the heartbeat of a tribe that keeps each member grounded, lifts them higher, and always saves a seat at the table. Listen, and you might find yourself texting the people who make your life feel whole.

Mesdames is Grand Corps Malade’s lyrical love letter to women everywhere. With his trademark spoken-word flow, the French poet salutes women’s elegance, strength and subtlety and admits that men often create “an orage,” a storm, around them. Line after line he praises women’s roles on screen and in real life, from history-making icons like Marie Curie and Rosa Parks to the mothers, sisters, cashiers and doctors who shape daily life. He even tips his hat to modern movements such as #BalanceTonPorc (France’s version of #MeToo), applauding women who speak out against sexism.

Behind the compliments runs a clear message: it is time to repair the “profond machisme” rooted in many cultures. By declaring that “la femme est l’avenir de l’homme,” Grand Corps Malade flips the spotlight, recognizing that women are not just inspirations but the very future of humanity. The result is an uplifting anthem that mixes admiration, apology and celebration into one catchy, feel-good tribute.

Grand Corps Malade teams up with Algerian singer Reda Taliani to turn the phrase “Inch’Allah” (Arabic for God willing) into a joyful rallying cry. Over an uplifting groove, they imagine a France where every neighborhood, skin tone, accent, and social class shares the same dance floor. The lyrics celebrate baggy pants at the Élysée, football without quotas, and mixed-culture weddings, painting a colorful picture of unity that pushes back against tension, prejudice, and political fearmongering.

Far from naïve, the song admits these dreams may feel “somewhat utopian,” yet it insists that hope is the first step toward change. By repeating “Inch’Allah” like a musical handshake, the artists invite listeners to believe that if our voices rise together, a fairer, happier society is not only possible but already beginning to move to the beat.

Effets Secondaires is Grand Corps Malade’s spoken-word postcard from the first COVID lockdown. With his signature mix of poetry and social commentary, he turns confinement into a magnifying glass: family chaos, government confusion, rubber gloves, and children’s laughter swirl together while the planet quietly heals outside. The virus is pictured as a stern teacher, forcing adults to slow down, question consumer habits, and recognize the fragility hidden beneath everyday routines.

The song keeps asking “Et maintenant?” (And now?) as it salutes overlooked heroes—nurses, cleaners, delivery drivers—who finally step into the spotlight while stock-market giants sit in quarantine. Environmental wake-up call, crash course in solidarity, and moral reset all meet in three and a half minutes of slam poetry. By the end, the listener is left wondering what will remain once the virus departs: Will society keep the empathy, humility, and rediscovered priorities, or slip back into old habits?

Espoir Adapté invites us into a world where plans have crumbled, ambitions feel handcuffed, and yet a stubborn spark refuses to die. Grand Corps Malade’s deep spoken-word flow meets Anna Kova’s soulful English hooks to paint the picture of people cornered by fate, carrying “an anvil on their back” but still scanning the hallway for a sliver of light. The song tells us that real intelligence is the art of adaptation: when the first round is lost, you dust yourself off, shrink your goals to a “reduced-mobility” size if you must, then chase them with pockets full of courage.

Behind the gritty imagery lies a heart-warming message: hope does not have to be grand to be powerful. An adapted hope is one that bends, reshapes, and keeps beating even when grief, scars, and memories of fallen friends weigh heavy. It is a second chance, a tribute to those who lifted us, and a vow to keep smiling so their efforts were not in vain. The track is both rallying cry and quiet confession, reminding learners and listeners alike that when life blocks the main road, the smartest move is to build a new path and keep walking – even if it starts with baby steps.

Imagine a modern Parisian housing estate where Romeo lives on the ground floor of building 3 and Juliette on the top floor across the street. They are 16, in love at first sight, and rain-soaked kisses become their secret kingdom. In Grand Corps Malade’s slam, Roméo Kiffe Juliette twists Shakespeare’s classic into a gritty urban romance: not a feud between noble families, but a clash between a Muslim household and a Jewish one. Parents slam doors, so the teens open cinemas, friends’ couches and even metro cars to keep their love alive.

The track is a rhythmic plea for tolerance, bravery and open minds. Instead of poison and tragedy, these lovers rewrite the script by running away together, proving that love can outsmart storms, gossip and old rules. With witty wordplay and vivid street scenes, Grand Corps Malade celebrates young hearts that break the mould and dream of a future where the weather, religion or tradition never decide who has the right to kiss.

Je Viens De Là is Grand Corps Malade’s heartfelt postcard from the French suburbs, written with both swagger and tenderness. In two breath-taking verses, the slam poet invites us onto the sidewalks where he learned to kick a football at midnight, perfect break-dance moves, and master a street slang so creative that linguists now study it. He paints a vivid collage of branded tracksuits (sometimes bought at the market), booming rap beats, and rainbow-bright cultural mix, reminding us that this banlieue is a hotbed of humour, energy, and quick-witted resilience.

Yet the song never hides the flip side: easy shortcuts into crime, flashes of violence in the schoolyard, and a media gaze that often reduces his neighbourhood to clichés. Through it all, Grand Corps Malade’s refrain rings with pride: “À chacun sa France” — everyone has their own slice of the country. His suburb may be rough around the edges, but it is also a “good school of life,” the birthplace of his art, and proof that inspiration can bloom where the world least expects it.