.Yung Gold wins!
Okay, Soda in den Bombay
Mir schieÃen Gedanken durch den Kopf, als wär' ich Cobain
Am Tresen im Cecconi's, Peroni ist mein Homie
Wer braucht Trophies, wenn ich morgen in 'ner Kiste lieg' aus Holz, Bitch?
Viel zu viel lief schief, ich brauch 'nen Genie
Sie singt di.
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