West Berlin
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Fuat Ergin
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Came back
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puts bunka
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West Berlin
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It's on, It's on
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Wake up with uppercut!
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Wings wake up hanging upside down from the sidewall
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Broken lives, stale lies make contact with consciousness from the palace!
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There is a mansion with an elevator in Bosphorus for the trickster who broke the embargo
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Currency flies, stock market sinks, gold vomits, oil flows
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He spends what he does not have!
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50 somersaults, broad bean in its mouth, from Taklamakan, the eagle is attacking
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The unjustifiable charlatan on the sofa
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It became a fixture on the way with linen
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If it's the deep state, I put my brain in the wheel
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I'm sick of fake goods!
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Plastic woven micasa in swap
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Printing press 400 years late!
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As a result of the delayed transmission of the light yesterday, the rap
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I won't forget that you voted for bloodthirsty dictators like Pinochet!
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Depression explodes on the neck
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If he holds a grudge like an Afghan, crocheting from right to left, he finds a Russian and flops to his house.
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return case!
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beggar in his shell
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I need money you idea
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Come beggar is the one who comes to his shell with a rocket
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Even though it is 100 rounds, you were eliminated from the same punch!
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Was my lasso stuck around your neck by accident?
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You're stuck, mindless
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Guides fucked up
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The country remained without agriculture
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We met the bastards
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My gazeless look is handsome
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My flow is moderate with my plugs
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crumb with a crumbling overlap
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He's dreading shit, slut!
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my race is my race
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Let the thief clap
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Because the star is the caterpillar, the butterfly is my armor
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My son's name is harpoon
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Talisman from the sheath!
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no more
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devoid of fear of death and darkness
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Your soul is kneaded by the descent of that power
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My pen is in my hand, the gun goes off and the war is not over, my son, my son
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no more
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devoid of fear of death and darkness
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Your soul is kneaded by the descent of a power
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My pen is in my hand, the gun goes off and the war is not over, my son, my son
|
Ezile shrink and double
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kick the vertical
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Worrying with rap instead of turning it into a fitna
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Welcome to my specialty, kilt!
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You're far from the subject in vain running, tosun
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Always speak to the listener
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Let the dry forest cover the whole continent
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You're a pig skin, coach!
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Evil thought breaks the fast
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Iftar waits in vain, the subject is long
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Hold your soul, look at everything
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But your mouth is full of cursing
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Boiling pit!
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If Korkmaz came like Ali İsmail, his TOMA
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Coma struck in the caliphate
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Africa is the place where you put your hand saying "I'll eat honey"
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Killer beehive!
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Makes Fuat say "He said brother"
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Let's go, demolish the trucks with a zeitgeist who shot everyone for the sake of overthrowing them.
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Secretly!
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There are hidden bullets in the news.
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as concrete
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Fuat Usta on the microphone!
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The land of the oxen who say not to provoke the raped woman
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Keep the Islam that made the thieves go out to the balcony and applaud!
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You mister like American attaché Joe
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His mind slipped until he went to the range
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Did you get the inspiration from the field and bucket in the tomb, it left everything positive
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Between the apocalypse and the pressure, life flows parallel to the lie.
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The masses deceived by politics!
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While their pockets are full, they are haramzadeler!
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This is the place to vote for those who spit in the face as if mocking the minimum wage!
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Coal and bulgur become slaves Anatolian people, please wake up!
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no more
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devoid of fear of death and darkness
|
Your soul is kneaded by the descent of that power
|
My pen is in my hand, the gun goes off and the war is not over, my son, my son
|
no more
|
devoid of fear of death and darkness
|
Your soul is kneaded by the descent of a power
|
My pen is in my hand, the gun goes off and the war is not over, my son, my son
|
no more
|
devoid of fear of death and darkness
|
Your soul is kneaded by the descent of a power
|
My pen is in my hand, the gun goes off and the war is not over, my son, my son
|
No more! |