Kollegah – Rotlichtsonate Lyrics English

warmly welcome
Is it an intro again or something? (Yeah)
You bitch, yeah

Above stacked cash even more stacked cash
Frederik, go, stack the cash!
And bring the table setting for the evening banquet.
Otherwise you could go straight for it like on my marble parquet

Hello Germany! I’m not feeling bad at all
I was turned off from the game, kept myself covered for a few years
Strolling around swan lakes my daily business
consisted of tours and taxis like an aristocratic family for too long

I was withdrawn like a Flitzebogen
Nothing going on, just kids the top at the top
Daddy is back, I raise ‘this freak
look’ menacingly, strict father’s appointments like pizza delivery

kid, rap is now a side profit
Still a tape according to an old pattern that sifts through your skull
Again Jayjo music, the old stereotype that
shines like a through atmosphere Meteorite

You are the son of a whore
You claim that your mother is a lady, oh, no,
a whore Her son is also a whore
She asks: “Boss, what are you doing?” A son, you whore
In my castle the moonlight illuminates the hallways

If the butler is looking for me, he follows the coke-white tracks on all four.
Step in startled with a dust-covered mic
And says: “End, boss, with tennis, golf and boat trips!

Outside they demand: ‘But burst the land ma’! ‘”
Seriously, I thought the proposal was hammered like in a tool
storage room Wrote a few perverse flows by the candlestick flame, bursting hoes
The boss is at most more tolerant of pain

Your disgraceful mom, the one for Credit plowing
in the shabby brothel, where my letter flickers
I am doing bloodbath massacre (Drr), stormy weather

action perforating whore daughters like a thirst-quenching packet
Let the throwing knives hit (Whu), one blow, followed by twisting kicks
Hard combinations like my combination lock on the safe , Kid

This is mafia boss aesthetics (Ey), Labrador in a cage
Melancholy Mula count in the evening sun
Still street pharmacists, still king in the street

Still fingers in the game like the dentist from The Game
Still keeping punks at bay like Dragunow rifles
Otherwise they dance around like party hoes at raves
In my life, I often rely on Kalashnikova rain

instead of spas that just talk – no, I despise your scene
Yo, my name is Kollegah, I am a hobby pusher.
Read Tolstoy in a Rolls-Royce and fuck your mother (bitch)
this one Rappers and their fashion brand fetish,

unfortunately, I don’t check my drug jargon like the cops,
I come red-light godfather- like , dominant gestures
And the birds buckle faster than origami swans

Do you make club hits for small children? (Tze)
I stab you on the chest with my index finger No more

every idiot who gets a
roll can do crazy rap. Suddenly unknown cocks come out of their holes – Glory Hole’s
pimp tape when I come with you Uzi
Are there bloody feuds like with your tampon, you pussy

Typical ratata again, lyrical massacre
The rest only makes fake streams like my artificial waterfall
Let the blood splash like purple rivers
Then briefly wipe the hallway and the blood stains destroy

And then?) Yes, nothing, the boss Hood short stories
are like his luxury watch wristband – there is ruckzuck cracked down
Kid, new Murder Case

Tick ‘Purple Haze, which blows away the brain, like Kurt Cobain
Bottom Shirt AKs, chic’ in the red light your girl out
since called it ” Blow’n until burnout “as with Birthday-Cakes (Ey)
Back in the old pimp style

OG, but so fresh, as if I were Rookie of the Year
Don’t pretend to be a witness, kid, you’re a friendly joint stoner
bitch, the boss is back like the 90s

Skyline shines on the City (City)
Hustle to the death, just like Nipsey (Nipsey)
Big Dreams and the circle stays small
Either your enemy gives in or you fuck him

At some point it’s over (-by), over ( -bei)
Death is prophesied for gangsters
But it’s not over yet (-bei), over
As long as the red light shines on the TEC-9


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