Haftbefehl – Azzlacks sterben Jung II (English lyrics)

Jail Blanco

[Part 1]
You want to hear scary stories? I know a lot of
Of emotionally dead people who deal with quantities
Ganja plants burn, brother.
In the OCBs Hell flame spits like Zippo
Smoke rises but rarely souls
Dead eyes turn red you see the demons
Who have lost their souls on their way up.
Killing for coal [german slang for money], main thing rich
Fuck the feelings hearts are made of stone
Dreams burst per second because of money or pride
BTM[BeTäubungsMittel=narcotics], robbery, honor killing, single cell stewing
Shore in the veins, sisters become zombies
Walking corpses, fucked-up junkies.
Babos get rich, because Golden Brown was a hit.
Listen to the violin of death while the brother is squirting.
The Habesha on crack came barefoot from Afrique
First Marbella, then Paris, direction Paradise
Arrived in Germany an angel hands him the pipe
A blonde little bitch straight out of the devil’s ass
When he took the trumpet in his mouth
Wasn’t he aware, unaware, that he was sucking Iblis’ blood
666 tattooed on walls and bodies
SLS Benz awakens the murderer in you too at some point
Who wants to lose this game?
Death and jail are the risks you will risk?

Azzlacks die young
Azzlacks die young
Azzlacks die young – part two
Azzlacks die young – ah, part two

[Part 2]
Cuffs of Hermés on the suit of Versace
I roll in the Jaguar at night through Frankfurt’s streets
Chabo Central Station, Red Light at the Seytan
In the air, you smell crack, H and disgusting kebab.
Coconut wax in the hair and bills in the blue jeans, cho
Make money with insects, send it home via Western Union
Brothers get cocky, coke a line.
Didn’t Frank say, “Never get high on your stuff”?
Discotheque Adlib the bottles on ‘m table
The Kanack’s got a taste for it, which means he’s fucked.
Is it called Observation and the Criminal Investigation on the heels
The party will be over soon, over, over, done.
Kanacken turn the wheel, smuggle coke now also in fish
From South America to Spain by ship
Fill the bowls with cocaina in the bananas of Chiquita
In Port Netherlands Rotterdam at the port waiting brothers
First you’re a street guy, then you’re a dealer, you supply junkies, then you’re a whore.
And with the Crips comes the handcuffs and your cart is searched
Gecasht with Ballermann in the glove compartment and quarter kilogram Schnuff
Welcome to Frankfurt

Azzlacks die young
Azzlacks die young
Azzlacks die young – part two
Azzlacks die young – ah, part two


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