Kid, I'm the Mac in this business
And I'm ticking big packets to the kids
Step into the club with the glittering chain
Drag your bitch to the toilet
And fuck the arrogant look out of her face
You get my album and say, I'm the best
But I'm making porn tapes with your mother
Come into your villa with the Basy, give your body punches
All your ribs burst like cornflakes
None of these rappers can have so many bitches
At the same time in ten cities
Without the women eventually checking what's going on
Kid, I have about seven or eight babes in your city alone, what's up?
And I do business and tick to all the sluts H
Roll into your city in the silver Lex
Make your lady, who you love, your ex
She adores my body, kid, I shoot myself the flex
Then have about seven hours of sex with the whore
All Gs in your town know, my word is law here
Kid, I come with the golden chain
Shoot you wannabe full in your face, better run to your hiding place
Rappers want a collabo
Come and call the Mac on the phone, unfortunately it's always busy
Because I have no time for these bums
Kid, I'd rather do business in Holland
Have kilos of pep in the trunk and roll over the customs
I make money with the goods, motherfucker, don't come at me with your rap
I unfortunately have no nerve for your "super great" tracks
German rap is a bitch and I supply her with crack
Make cash with the whore, and it keeps growing on its own
Kid, I have a run like my Tec
Don't give a fuck about your gang, come on and pull out my gun
Shoot bullets into your head and you die

Uzi barrels black like the lunar eclipse
Aim with the gun, kill your gang, roll away in the Jeep
Shoot pimps dead and the red light goes out
Bullets in the air, run through the hood, full magazine
Gucci jacket white, that's coke sticker biz
Lay me a line, roll me a blunt, Dutch weed
Let the lady dance on the living room table
I tear rappers apart with a knife, better give me your chain
Bum run, I'm the king in the block

Coke sticker biz
I flex my muscles and create a lunar eclipse with it
Rappers shoot steroids, then act like hard bodybuilders
But look down when they meet Kollegah
And I don't give a fuck about your doubletime flows
I sell your mom the coke
She can't pay because the bitch has no money
No problem, I let the whore blow in front of the camera, uh
And you see on the internet
How your rap idols like to make over G with bags full of money
But little insider info
Most of these bums are downright broke in their real life
All the big cars in the clips are only borrowed
The bitches don't even have a driver's license, it's all just show
The only one who stayed real in this game full of losers
Bitch, is Kollegah, the rest are all hoes
And you know, I could if I wanted to
All these so-called rapper careers
In this country without any problems fuck up
With a single track
But for that I'm unfortunately much too busy with other things
Like fucking their mothers
After these bitches clean my villa
Then lovingly massage my neck and then go on all fours
With eyes that shine with joy like the moon
Or the rims on the Benz full of chrome
Come at me stupid and I'll hold the Tec to your head
Pull the trigger, motherfucker you're dead
And all your furniture in the apartment turns red
Like your mother's eyes when she cries for her son
It's the boss, I roam the quarter in the Maybach
Most MCs have no dignity
They only fuck crack sluts
I push chicks off the bed edge that they would marry

Uzi barrels black like the lunar eclipse
Aim with the gun, kill your gang, roll away in the Jeep
Shoot pimps dead and the red light goes out
Bullets in the air, run through the hood, full magazine
Gucci jacket white, that's coke sticker biz
Lay me a line, roll me a blunt, Dutch weed
Let the lady dance on the living room table
I tear rappers apart with a knife, better give me your chain
Bum run, I'm the king in the block

Uzi barrels black like the lunar eclipse
Aim with the gun, kill your gang, roll away in the Jeep
Shoot pimps dead and the red light goes out
Bullets in the air, run through the hood, full magazine
Gucci jacket white, that's coke sticker biz
Lay me a line, roll me a blunt, Dutch weed
Let the lady dance on the living room table
I tear rappers apart with a knife, better give me your chain
Bum run, I'm the king in the block

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