Lyrics

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Ich hab das Mikro in der Hand und die Raps im Kopf,
bin auf dem Weg zu euch allen, also macht auf wenns klopft.
Vergesst das alte 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4; denn spätestens bei 3 bin ich mit Tropf und Dynamite vor deiner Tür.

Es ist nicht dass du in den Charts warst, es ist dein Karma,
nämlich nada weder Fisch noch Fleisch wie Veganer.
Ich kick Styles von hier bis Ghana,
mein Scheiss ist füllig wie das Haar des weissen Gullits - Valderama.
I make a million bucks
every six months and y'all
hating my game saying my name they call
me the E wrong things
knowing Im fly without wings
while some of y'all have to pull strings.
Yes the rhythm the rebel
Without a pause I'm lowering my level
The hard rhymer where you never been I'm in
You want stylin' you know it's time again
D the enemy tellin you to hear it
They praised the music this time they play the lyrics
6'n the morning' police at my door
Fresh adidas squerk across the bathroom floor
Out the back window I make a escape
Don't even get a chance to grab my old school tape
Let me be the voice in your strength and your choice
Let me simplify the rhyme just to amplify the noise
Try to amplify the times it, and multiply by six...
Teen million people, Are equal at this high pitch
Maybe we can reach alqueda through my speech
Let the president answer a higher anarchy
Strap him with an Ak-47, let him go, fight his own war
Let him impress daddy that way