Glocks and coke, money from hoes from Eastern Europe
Now it's really setting in like the boss at poker
When he gambles his house again like the screaming brats
With him celebrating stars from the United States
Stars like Eva Longoria, in the hood Gs duck
Because Kollegah shoots around every day like alcoholics
Collects pine furniture from the 17th century
And mirrors in which he admires himself while training
Bring the triceps in shape, the biceps in shape
And define the body like an anatomy encyclopedia
I have to be strong, because my wristwatch alone weighs sixty tons
MCs pretend to be pimps, but have just as much sex as nuns
Rappers are strange, rap that they have money
Although everyone sees, their biz is dragging like hotel bellboys
Who carry my luggage full of money, panting and breathing fast
Struggling up the stairs to the lfE floor
And then collapse and stay lying down for a while
I step over them, step into the suite and draw a line
Hey, yo bitch, I have a huge part
And even in times of crisis more punchlines than the Bible pages
I smuggle kilos of pep in the Benz
Tense six-pack, Men's Health cover page
K O Double L, masculine boss aura
Your bitch in the hotel, gangbang, shock trauma
You're pissed off, grab your head
Want to take revenge, send me your bodyguard on stuff
But the boss's uppercut the guy won't survive
German rappers? I am lyrically superior to them
I am psychologically superior to them and they see
After they get intensive pimp-slaps
I am also physically superior to them
They are subhumans like the ground
I squander in high-end fashion boutiques the equivalent of one hundred and sixty million
Bunker cash in my pockets and you bastard get asthma
You see on my house-high plasma screens
Look at your body, you're in the gym
But have a female figure like Liberty Island
Look at the bitches, how they scream, the boss steps on the iron
Until the Bridgestone tires spin like Jack Nicholson in "Shining"
Look at the dial of the Breitling, look at the haters
How they hate on the net, but avoid eye contact in real life
Look at my business, for the list of the ten richest
Only a tiny bit is missing, like when Trick and Track are together
It's Kollegah, muscle mountain, I walk around with air rifle
And crocodile shoes in the hood
A few shots pierce your whore heart
You fagot annoy, stop the boss, bring me your mother
And we spend the time playing doctor like Guttenberg
While I sit in the Hummer, fuck your mom
You wear thong slips and jerk off to manga clips
Your dad smokes cannabis? Yes, he can until
The boss comes and breaks both arms of the whore's son
Kid, and you see me park the Mercedes
Gullwing doors open, I step in slow motion out of fog clouds
Body full of luxury brands, superior DNA, your tear gas helps little
When I load steel MGs, chase bullets through your skull
Hey, I let when they have their period, girls blow every evening
Give gas in the Range Rover, drive to your bitch
Hey, her sex life takes place when you're not there like voicemail announcements
Years ago I sold stuff to kids at skateboard parks
Today they watch in amazement as the boss stands a bit melodramatically
In the light of the neon signs, cool in front of the Maybach
You're standing at most in front of a VW, like U in the alphabet
I'm multitasking, hold the Uzi to your skull
Pull the trigger and give it to twenty groupies at the same time
Kid, and I hope you understand me there
An uppercut and you fly into the orbit of the planet Jupiter
See u later, you bitch, don't tell what kind of player you are
Because the boss rolls through the neighborhood, sits
Behind mocha-brown tinted windows with chicks in the fat Beamer
Trunk capacity six hundred and seventy hectoliters
Full of stretched Pep, I check the packets to ghetto dealer
The chauffeur maneuvers the king like Tekken players
You crack bitch beg me nicely to feature you on your track
Get away with you, man, your rap lyrics are whack, better hide
Or the Mac holds Magnums and Tecs to your head and stretches you down
Blows you away and you lie there injured in the dirt with torn limbs
Kid, I glide over the sea surface
On a sailboat, discussing business on the phone
Make cash in upscale clubs with scene drugs at night
Tick Coke and Es to celebrities from the tabloid press
Go with AK-47 on you, because you act like a pimp
But at home you see your bitch then speaking to you in a commanding tone
You have to listen, nod and mop the floors
Because you're under the slipper like shoe sizes, bitch
My crew kills you, you see blood flowing until
It sprays towards the sky at the flight altitude of migratory birds
And you're afraid for your sister, if I have gigs in your city
Because last year I already had the dick in your slut
And you talk about marriage, but I meet your chick in the nightclub
One, two whiskey and she sits in the Maybach
It doesn't take much effort for the bitch to undress
The effort is minimal like Disney cartoonists
And I see her thong
Because her mini skirt is scarcer than drinking water in Kinshasa
I give her hopes of marrying the pimp
And she's as happy as a child at Christmas
And she reacts to my best part with screams of terror
To yours too, but only because of your sexually transmitted diseases
It would be better for you to be silent now
Or jump off the bridge and drift away with lifebuoys
Because when you see the Mac get out of the Lexus
Your life is on a knife's edge like the Nesmuk sign
There's a size difference between your homes and mine
Because my homies are closets like in "Beauty and the Beast"
And you want to park your Kadett, but you see the pitch-black
Aston and freeze, because you only know such things from quartet cards
I let your beloved blow, this ho
Then only has one cock to blow
Still, the choice is huge
Kid, and you write a few punchlines on the sheet
But I come and knock you out and you want to press charges
Hey, no problem, go ahead! Because look, your crack bitch
Treats me in court like her dining table and covers me
Run to the cops, but you die
After you sang as if you were Nate Dogg
Your gang trembles like Michael J. Fox
Fucking rappers is easy like Kate Moss
Shoot at big city cops, the wall safe full of Kokarocks
It's the boss, platinum scepter, cobra head.

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