Lyrics

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