Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ode til Jante, artist - Rapublik1
Date of issue: 11.03.2015
Song language: Danish
Ode til Jante(original) |
Jeg vælter ind af døren med min usynlige homie |
Ham du gir' skylden hver gang du gør noget tåbeligt |
Uforståeligt for du kender ham ik' |
Men du råber hans navn når folk hater dit shit |
Sæt dig ned og læs lille gut homie |
Havde din ryg før du blev berømt på fæcesbook |
Der' ingen tænder i det, dine læber kan sut men ik' spyt' |
Så du drukner mens jeg kvæler min sut |
Det' helt dødt, så mange crews der padler i det |
Med bind for øjnene, leder efter dadler i det |
De finder tøjter, og tøjter matcher løgne |
Men bitch, er nu virkeligheden smasker det med løgne |
Sig min mening er pisse smålig, din ting gør mig svimmel og groggy |
Så forsvind fra scenen og find en hobby |
For når jeg siger du ik' leverer shit med hold i |
Er det ik' jantelovens skyld, nej du' bare decideret dårlig |
Og pulsen pumper når jeg tænker på dit crew og stikker nåle i voodoo dukker |
Splitter dem i tusind stumper |
I' mindre værd en den ju i puffer |
Så publikummer jubler når i skal sluge gule stråler fra min super soaker |
Jeg' langt fra troende |
Men kan du hverken rap' eller ramme en tone ber' jeg til du stiller træskoene |
Fuck om du' bodybuilder eller holder folk som gidsler |
Skills er skills og janteloven er et sjoller filter |
Vi hører kun dine tracks efter 12 om natten når du sover |
Mens vi messer jantes regler og vores øjne ruller bagover |
Så bare stempel os som de vildeste hater |
Vi hader alligevel din stil så meget at vi har beef med dine forældre |
For at rose dig til skyerne og sige de syns' du go', de' syge i hovedet |
Giggi Freddie Petersen syndrom |
Og det' ik' jantelovens skyld at du mangler talent |
Så hvorfor rende og skrige fuck den, når du bare skal holde kæft |
Og pakke sammen, finde en anden interesse eller gesjæft |
Du kunne jo bli' Mohammed tegner og bosætte dig i Marakech |
For det' ik' sørgeligt hvis en sjoller slår sig selv ihjel forsætteligt |
Jeg vil hellere kalde det selv indsigt, vi mennesker er jo så forskellige |
Du tror du' speciel og har et kæmpe rap talent |
Vil gerne anerkendes af mængden, afhængig af accept |
På nettet spiller du smart og fortæller du er bedst |
Men kæfter op så snart du ik' får den forventede respekt |
En tosse der længes efter fame og sælger sin sjæl |
Altid selvtægt, men iscenesætter sig selv |
Råber op om janteloven, tror folk er naive |
Men den findes ik', fat det dog og stop med at pive |
Det' kun dig selv der kæmper for at holde den i live |
Og du har ingen hæmninger som kællinger der' Roskilde stive |
Du' en del af Danmarks vildeste sjoller kollektiv |
Og et skræmmende bevis på hvor fucked up man kan blive |
Du' en forkælet prick der sjældent kigger ud over egen næsetip |
Selvsikker på du nok skal bli' et kæmpehit |
Fortæller samtlige mennesker på din venneliste |
Hvordan de burde tjek' fordi dit næste shit bliver mesterligt |
Du har det sygeste flow, homie blæs en spliff |
Noget tyder på du lyver for dig selv for tit |
Shit, du ejer hverken skills eller selv indsigt |
Og både din mor og far sku' burres inde for forældre svigt |
Drømmer om en trendy crib, lækre chicks med fake tits |
Gæste feats og læssevis af sedler til din pengeklips |
Hvis jeg var ligeså wack som dig, så ville jeg dæmpe mig lidt |
(translation) |
I knock in the door with my invisible homie |
Him you blame 'every time you do something stupid |
Incomprehensible because you do not know him ' |
But you shout his name when people hate your shit |
Sit down and read little gut homie |
Had your back before you became famous on the stool book |
There 'no teeth in it, your lips can suck but do not' spit ' |
So you drown while I suffocate my pacifier |
It's completely dead, so many crews paddling in it |
Blindfolded, looking for dates in it |
They find clothes, and clothes match lies |
But bitch, now reality is smacking it with lies |
Say my opinion is piss petty, your thing makes me dizzy and groggy |
So disappear from the stage and find a hobby |
Because when I say you do not deliver shit with hold in |
Is it not the fault of the Jante law, no you 'just decidedly bad |
And the pulse pumps when I think of your crew and sticking needles in voodoo dolls |
Divide them into a thousand pieces |
I 'less worth a den ju in puffer |
So the audience cheers when you have to swallow yellow rays from my super soaker |
I'm far from a believer |
But if you can neither rap nor hit a note, I beg you to put on your clogs |
Fuck if you're a bodybuilder or holding people hostage |
Skills are skills and Janteloven is a fun filter |
We only hear your tracks after 12 at night when you sleep |
While we mess jante's rules and our eyes roll backwards |
So just label us as the wildest haters |
We still hate your style so much that we have beef with your parents |
To praise you to the clouds and say they think 'you go', the 'sick in the head |
Giggi Freddie Petersen syndrome |
And it's 'not' the fault of the Jante law that you lack talent |
So why run and scream fuck it when you just have to shut up |
And pack up, find another interest or business |
You could become a Mohammed artist and settle in Marakech |
For it 'ik' sad if a sjoller kills himself intentionally |
I would rather call it self-insight, we humans are so different |
You think you 'special and have a huge rap talent |
Would like to be recognized by the crowd, depending on acceptance |
On the net, you play smart and tell you are the best |
But shut up as soon as you do not get the expected respect |
A fool who longs for fame and sells his soul |
Always suicidal, but staging himself |
Shouting about the law of the roost, people think they are naive |
But it does not exist, grab it and stop whining |
It's only you who fight to keep it alive |
And you have no inhibitions like bitches who 'Roskilde stiff |
You're part of Denmark's wildest dinghies collective |
And a scary proof of how fucked up one can get |
You're a spoiled prick who rarely looks beyond his own nose tip |
Confident you'll probably be a huge hit |
Tells all the people on your friends list |
How they should check 'because your next shit will be masterful |
You have the sickest flow, homie blows a spliff |
Something suggests you are lying to yourself too often |
Shit, you possess neither skills nor even insight |
And both your mom and dad sku 'burres in the face of parental failure |
Dreaming of a trendy crib, delicious chicks with fake tits |
Guest feats and loads of notes for your money clip |
If I was as wack as you, then I would calm down a bit |