God Stil - Pede B

Og skal vi lige byde velkommen til Gustav fra dagens mand

«Hej skatter»

Den tror jeg var til dig

Vi får også besøg af rapperen Pede B

«Ej, rappere de har bare så dårlig stil, årh, puha altså»

Gode minder fra brokvarterer når solen skinner

Vi sender blikke efter hovedstadens gode kvinder

Før jeg blev stor sagde min mor «Peter!

Du ligner jo en idiot, de bukser er for store til dig»

For de var købt I et kæmpe nummer

I H&M og sad med et bælte, så de ku' hænge på mig

Jeg skatede rundt med et slæng af unger

Hvor allesammen faldt meget, så knæene havde kæmpe huller

En del sener' blev vi afvist på diskoteker

De kigged' ned ad Peter, begyndt' ik' engang at visitere

Sagde «Det der tøj, det passer ik' til stilen her»

For mine hvide sneaks, var nok ikke så hvide mer'

Ik' I det sidste skrig, nok mere en kæmpe brøler

Når din næse løber må du kig' langt efter slemme tøser

Bællede øller foran natklubbernes kæmpe køer

Så måtte tøserne komme senere som en efternøler

«Rappere de har bare så dårlig stil, årh, puha altså»

Og det går

Kaffen på min trøje, rander under øjnene

Ligner en der mangler medicindrop

Og det går

Svær og ignorere som et spark I løgene

Pludselig synes de at jeg er fin nok

Og det går

Larmende og støjende, hvis branchen kan døje det

Ender det med et 12-tal med pil op

Klæ'r sig håbløst, så det' vel tydeligt nok

At jeg ik' laver damer ligesom Kidd og ELOQ

Storre baggy pants

Men ingen modesans

Polo på, for det havde mine venner der var hooligans

Ahem, jeg mener fodboldfans

Jeg var et rowdy-barn

Den eneste rapper herhjemme der tegner som en brækket arm

Lavede cirka landets grimmeste graffiti-piece

Længe før alle folk omkring mig de blev sneakerfreaks

De vil nok ik' mene at mine sko er skidegode

Så slidte man sku' tro jeg var et heroinmisbrug

Folk de spidser ører, når dine ting de kører

Men jeg' stadig beskidt, tjek mine sneaks og tilbehør

For I Foot Locker kigger de som jeg' skide skør

Når jeg spø'r «Har I dem I en 48−49?»

Hvordan kan jeg ligne en fucking bums

Når jeg bogstavelig talt vader rundt I sponsorkluns

Og jeg' jo ik' snotdum

Jeg får mange tilbud, men mange af de tøser har været blokken rundt

Ingen tvivl om det hjælper lidt at rappe

Så' lidt flere kvinder parate, bare kig I min indbakke

Men jeg kommer nok ik' til at score Christel Winther

Selv hvis jeg rapped' sødere end en reklame for Kinder

And let's just welcome Gustav from today's man

"Hey Baby"

I think it was for you

We also get a visit from rapper Pede B

"No, rappers they just have such a bad style, eh, whoa"

Good memories from bridge quarters when the sun is shining

We send glances for the good women of the capital

Before I grew up, my mother said, “Peter!

You look like an idiot, those pants are too big for you »

Because they were bought in a huge number

In H&M and sat with a belt so they could hang on to me

I skated around with a bunch of kids

Where everyone fell a lot, so the knees had huge holes

A lot of later 'we were rejected at discos

They looked down at Peter, 'I' once began to visit

Said "That clothes, it does not fit the style here"

For my white sneaks, were probably not so white anymore '

Ik 'In the last scream, probably more of a giant roar

When your nose is running you have to look far for bad girls

Belled beers in front of the nightclubs' giant queues

Then the girls had to come later as a laggard

"Rappers they just have such a bad style, uh, whoa"

And it goes

The coffee on my shirt runs under my eyes

Looks like one that lacks drug drops

And it goes

Hard and ignore like a kick In the onions

Suddenly they think I'm nice enough

And it goes

Noisy and noisy if the industry can endure it

End it with a 12-number with up arrow

Dress hopelessly, so that's clear enough

That I'm not making ladies like Kidd and ELOQ

Larger baggy pants

But no sense of fashion

Polo on, because my friends had hooligans

Ahem, I mean football fans

I was a rowdy kid

The only rapper in this country who draws like a broken arm

Made about the country's ugliest graffiti piece

Long before all the people around me they became sneaker freaks

They probably will not think that my shoes are damn good

Then you got tired of thinking I was a heroin addict

People they prick up their ears when your stuff they run

But I'm still dirty, check out my sneaks and accessories

For I Foot Locker, they look like I 'd fucking crazy

When I ask "Do you have them in a 48−49?"

How can I look like a fucking pimple

When I'm literally wading around in sponsorship

And I 'jo ik' snotdum

I get a lot of offers, but a lot of those girls have been around the block

No doubt it helps a little to rap

So 'a little more women ready, just look in my inbox

But I'll probably not score Christel Winther

Even if I rapped 'sweeter than an advertisement for Kinder