Welcome
Is it intro time again or what? (Yeah)
You bitch, yeah

Over stacked cash, even more stacked cash
Frederik, go, stack the cash and bring the table setting for the evening banquet
Otherwise, you could easily go down like on my marble parquet
Hello Germany!
I'm not doing too bad
I was turned off from the game, kept a low profile for a few years
Strolled around Swan Lake areas, my daily business
Consisted too long of tours and taxis like a noble family
I was withdrawn for a long time like a bow
Nothing going on, just kids at the top
Daddy is back, I'm raising these miscreations
Look threatening, strict delivery schedules like pizza delivery guys
Kid, rap is a side profit today
Still a tape in the old style, that sieves your skull
Again Yayo music, the old stereotype that shines through atmosphere like a meteorite
You are the son of a whore
You claim your mother is a lady, oh no, a whore
Her son also a whore, she asks
"Boss, what are you doing?", well I'm beating up your son, you whore
In my castle, the moonlight illuminates the corridors
If the butler is looking for me, he follows the cocaine-white traces on all fours
Steps in startled with a dust-covered mic and says
"Enough, boss, with tennis, golf and boat travel tours
Outside they demand, shatter, but that's enough"
Seriously, I found the suggestion hammer-like in a tool storage chamber
Wrote a few perverse flows by candlelight flame
Shatter hoes, the boss is at most more tolerant towards pain
Your dishonorable mom, who works for credit
Blows in the shabby brothel, where a letter flickers
I make blood massacres, storm weather action
Pierce whore's sons like a thirst quencher packet
Let the throwing knives hit, one blow, followed by spinning kicks
Hard combinations like my combination lock on the safe, kid
This is mafia boss aesthetics (ey), Labrador in the cage
Melancholically counting Mula in the evening sun
Still street pharmacist, still (King in the street)
Still (finger in the game) like the dentist of The Game
Still keep punks at a distance like Dragunov rifles
Otherwise, they dance on your nose like party hoes at raves
I often rely on Kalashnikov rain in life
Instead of on idiots who just talk, tze, I despise your scene
Yo, my name is Kollegah, I'm a hobby pusher
Read Tolstoy in the Rolls-Royce and fuck your mother (Bitch)
These rappers and their brand fetish
I unfortunately don't understand as much as the cops my drug jargon
I come like a red light godfather, dominant gesture
And the birds fold faster than origami swans
You make club hits for little kids? (Tze)
I'll stab you in the chest with my index finger
Enough with the shit, spinner
Any idiot can rap who gets a Roli
Suddenly unknown dicks come out of their holes, glory holes
Pimp tape, when I come with Uzi
There are bloody feuds like with your tampon, you pussy
Again typical Ratata, lyrical massacre
The rest just make fake streams like my artificial waterfall
Let the blood spray like in Crimson Rivers
Then quickly wipe the floor and destroy the blood traces
(And then?)
Yeah nothing, the boss's hood short stories
Are like a luxury watch wristband, it's quickly grabbed
Kid, new murder case, tick Purple Haze, the brain blows away, like Kurt Cobain
Under the shirt AKs, send your girl out in the red light
Then it's "blowing until burnout" like with birthday cakes (ey)
Back in old pimp manner, OG, but so fresh, as if I was Rookie of the Year
Don't pretend to be a dealer, kid, you're a friendly joint smoker
Bitch, the boss is back like the 90s

Skyline shines on the city (City) Hustle until death, like Nipsey (Nipsey)
Big Dreams
And the circle stays small either your enemy gives in or you fuck him
Someday it's over (-over), over (-over) for gangsters death is prophesied
But it's not over yet (-over), over
As long as the red light shines on the TEC-9

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