(Drive at eighty through the city at night, pump the pimp tape)
Once again back is the incredible

Ey-yo, as hard as Bret Hart, a hundred kilos of man power
Charge through and shoot myself in the face with a big gun
Psychopath, push the Brabus to full throttle
You can be sure that I won't stop for Marcus
Phone rings, I give orders from the background
I'm not like Karim Benzema, because I don't lift a finger (and)
Listening to German rap is indeed a mistake
But now comes the boss featuring Kollegah (haha)
You would also like to feature, but that would be a safe mismatch
There's no room for you on this board, Kate Winslet
Okay, I'm not the world's best punchliner
But accordingly, as if I had Alzheimer's (and)
You stay, even though you read Kamasutra books
Green behind the ears in your Tabaluga plush costume
Drip the lemon on my barracuda fish fillet
And haters are bagged like a rosehip fruit tea (and)
Man, while I fuck the verse like a Genkidama
Herbert Grönemeyer wants his heart back from Jeffrey Dahmer
Again thick on groove
I make bucks on the net, brother, I think I'm spinning
And even if unwinding the paper was tough like on kitchen roll holders
I've fought my way up from a minimum wage recipient
To a star that is sparkling on the keychain
Plus jewels the size of a buffalo mozzarella

Drive at eighty through the city at night, pump the pimp tape (pump the pimp tape)
Full on Nak, don't give a fuck, run you over, because you were in the way (yes, because you were in the way)
Tick stuff, man, I walk like the boss through the airport gate (through the airport gate)
Snap-snap, puff-puff, the cigar from Cuba, it burns (ey)

Ey-yo, as hard as Bret Hart, a hundred kilos of man power
Pimpslap and your skull bursts open like a pineapple
German rap adapted like my tailored suit
Every day the same mush like in prison
In the background of the corner lounge plays Frank Sinatra blues
Fuck rap, everyone makes the same steps Army Troops
You are an insult to my eye
German rap walks around in high heels as if we were at Heidi Klum's
I'm way above, yeah, not just in terms of money
If the boss is ever down-to-earth, then only on the red carpet
Heh, meet me in Cannes at the film festival
It's about leading roles like with guillotines
Hang out in a villa that looks like a luxury fair
**** hangs with a broken face in the club toilet
As a child you hung with muscle weakness in the cuddle corner
You are soft in relation to bitches brothel bedspread
Enjoy the hype, hakuna matata
It won't last long like a getaway driver
Just a newcomer, but only after a year then invisible
As the gun holster in my puma fur parka
Click numbers shoot up like an anti-aircraft tank
The origin dubious like the underworld mafia
I say it even more fundamentally, there is a hundred percent clear what
In the bush like a jungle field camp in Guatemala
The playlists sound like they were mastered by the same producer
Only copied music like on my computer from back then
I came to the top of the charts with pimp saga
Like on yacht corners with a model, what I do is considered
All battles are won
Do you think the same as me and despise these cunts?
Ey, then the boss is back now, call me your majesty
Surrounded by toxic bubbles, as if I had laid myself in Kolja's acid barrel (ey)

Drive at eighty through the city at night, pump the pimp tape (the pimp tape)
Full on Nak, don't give a fuck, run you over, because you were in the way (yes, because you were in the way)
Tick stuff, man, I walk like the boss through the airport gate (through the airport gate)
Snap-snap, puff-puff, the cigar from Cuba, it burns

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