.Acht Millionen, schieà doch, Bulle, schieà doch. shit!
Wir tanzen um den Feuerberg aus lodernden CDs
Die Netzwerke sind scharfgestellt in unseren WGs
Dort fahr'n wir die Systeme hoch und wippen uns in Rage
99 Cent fürn Track verpuffen in der Blase
Die Dixie-Klos vom Hurricane schen.
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