Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tandstikker, artist - Nota Bene. Date of issue: 24.12.2013
Song language: Danish
Tandstikker(original) |
| Det her det stopper, nu det slut |
| Du lever for min love mens jeg dør fucking sut |
| Jeg sir' dine bollevenner rager mig |
| Men indvoldene vender sig hver gang du bedrager mig |
| Jeg farver tracksne med kul |
| Og fejer gulv med en flok rappere og rejser en skål |
| For de få der fatter brik og fuck nu pik og patter |
| Bålet brænder bredt |
| Jeg banger soul musik ikk' dåselatter |
| Rappers render rundt i ring indtil stålet falder |
| Ballet ender brat når jeg vender våbnene mod de sukkerknalder |
| Dansedukker falder fra når bomben sprænger |
| Jeg ikk' længere moderat, der' brug for molotov-kampagner |
| Gi' mig noget der taler klart |
| Giv mig Khal og Jooks |
| Jake ??? |
| Intelligent Pushing og mit Echo Crew |
| Og det næste niveau |
| For vi har brug for det bedste nu |
| Så step up eller hold din kæft mens vi lægger festen til ro |
| Men raserierne dæmpes |
| Når vi kradser lidt i lakken blir' svarene knap så enkle |
| Men det glemmer vi i farten |
| Og sænker tænderne i nakken på en stakkels tourettes-ramt dængse-dreng på 13 |
| Dræbt fra starten |
| Til jubelråb fra publikum, der klapper takten |
| Vi' et bundt usle musikalske muskelbundt med rappen |
| Og det' en ussel kunst, men aldrig ubegrundet |
| Du ka' spids' din kussemund og bap' den |
| Ja os' dig, fuck-fjæs, og dig |
| Du' bedre online end i boksen, ka' ikk' bust' live |
| Og dit profilbillede ka' ikk' opveje din debile mangel på skills |
| Wigga, fuck nej! |
| Så nu leger vi stopleg, jeg ender det |
| Jeg piller sjoller-knogler ud af tænderne |
| Fortæl mig det ikk' nytter, jeg bedøvende |
| Jeg spytter til pløkkerne bløder for Bøtker behøver det |
| (translation) |
| This it stops, now it ends |
| You live for my love while I die fucking sucker |
| I sir' your ball friends tower me |
| But guts turn every time you deceive me |
| I color the tracks with charcoal |
| And sweeps the floor with a bunch of rappers and raises a cheers |
| For the few who understand piece and fuck now cock and tits |
| The fire burns wide |
| I bang soul music not canned laughter |
| Rappers run around the ring until the steel falls |
| Ballet ends abruptly when I turn my guns on the sugar pops |
| Dancing dolls fall off when the bomb explodes |
| I'm no longer moderate, there's no need for molotov campaigns |
| Give me something that speaks clearly |
| Give me Khal and Jooks |
| Jack??? |
| Intelligent Pushing and my Echo Crew |
| And the next level |
| Because we need the best now |
| So step up or shut up while we put the party to rest |
| But the fury subsides |
| When we scratch a little in the paint, the answers are not so simple |
| But we forget that on the fly |
| And sinks his teeth into the neck of a poor Tourette's 13 year old boy |
| Killed from the start |
| To cheers from the audience clapping the beat |
| We' a bunch of lousy musical muscle with the rap |
| And it's a lousy art, but never unfounded |
| You can tip your cunt and bap it |
| Yes, you, fuck-face, and you |
| You're better online than in the box, ka' ikk' bust' live |
| And your profile picture can't make up for your stupid lack of skills |
| Wigga, fuck no! |
| So now we're playing stopgame, I'll end it |
| I pick jowl bones out of my teeth |
| Tell me it's no use, I narcotic |
| I spit until the pegs bleed because Bötker needs it |