Ode til Jante - Rapublik1, Nota Bene, Yogi

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

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