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letra de kobrakopf (english translation) - kollegah

[verse 1: kollegah]
a polar bear’s fur on the tiles out of m-ssive gold
relaxed cocaine-session in front of the crackling firewood
the ex-girlfriend calls, i don’t answer the phone
the new girlfriend asks “who’s that?” “mind your own business!”
because the boss is a player, open porsche carrera
money on my mind, coal on my mind like a snowman
take the suitcase full of money, gamble everything away in las vegas, b-tch
because, earlier i had nothing and life’s fading
like footsteps in the sand after a storm at the beach
and today everyday feels like my birthday
today, i’m cruising around the country with 300 horsepower
and the jaguar on my grill like a jungle tribe
then poor, now rich, then train, now maybach
now i’m paying these platinum bracelets, no matter how expensive
drive to milan, shopping brand by italian designers
that’s like german dream: there will be some armani
and i buy the whole spring collection
and it’s kollegah, over-king like crowns, grill chromed
and until everything crumbles into dust
i will continue making colorful paper in a grey world

[chorus: kollegah]
tiger skins, platinum scepter, cobra head
stash dollar bills at night in my highrise loft
when the chardonnay drips on the carbon varnish
i count money, colorful paper
blue, green, yellow, purple
colorful paper
blue, green, yellow, purple
colorful paper
blue, green, yellow, purple
colorful paper
the world is grey, but i count colorful paper

[verse 2: farid bang]
you want to hook somebody up, enter a discotheque
but no b-tch will get in your citroën
and you wish i had thrown myself in front of a train
but my jeans is like my faith: true religion
and my bullets f-ck your -sshole, you shirt
because you pick up the soap, like an economical person
farid to the bang, we are underground stars
the only gangster rappers who don’t pay protection money
young and brutal, i stay weapon carrier
and i disperse your mice, like an exterminator
why is it my fault that everbody wants to f-ck your sister?
drive to the sauna club and f-ck about six romanians
i have the tec with me, dispatch s-xually damaged
street-rapping 16 year olds
your mothers, when i have banged them all
i had more cheerleaders on me than dipset alb-ms
i shoot fettes brot, who says street rap is dead
i can’t scratch my back because my biceps is too big
i have an eastpak full of cocaine, we beat some stoners to death
rule no. 3: real gangsters don’t have twitter!
what?

[verse 3: haftbefehl]
meet me in paris, i’m in a shopping binge at louis vuitton
or one day later in milano in the cerruti store
hafti drives up at gucci in the new grand cherokee black
blonde model-girlies carry bags for the superstar
yesterday gallus, today charts, cho, first cl-ss, lufthansa
you say, you were up in the air – overhead railway in wuppertal
alas, step aside!
you have no flus, you’re poor, your mother sucks d-ck for 50 bucks
so that markus can drive with bus and train to pay for s-x in the wh-r-house
funny hahaha, look, baba h makes para, spits some bars
come around to your village, if you want to see me, you gotta pay
watches by mont blanc, i have 20k jewelry on my wrist
want millions, f-ck 100 dollar bills
i have hunger for more, brother, ah
h-llo germany, have a nice day, origin: dersim, kurdistan
distribute turn and push kicks, chab, like the son of uschi glas
from broken roads towards jupiter, in the flying saucer, brah
your flow remains g-y like bruno mars
you son of a b-tch, f-ck yourself in the -ss

- kollegah

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