100 Bars

(Offbeat)

September 2, 2006
When I came into this black-and-white-gray world
From not having much, figured it out since I was a kid
Live on stage in Switzerland, Frauenfeld
Amidst a pile of dirt, living on records
Let me tell you the story, from the start to the end
Because somehow my life feels like paradise and hell right now
Allah sees our hands at every Friday prayer
Today it's salmon and crab on the side
On my lonely path, no one saw me
I stood like a one-man army
Until my first message to Sadiqfree
Eternal gratitude, because you saw what no one else saw in me
Staying up all night
Writing lyrics in the park, rapping and rhyming bars
Running from the law and complaints
Obsessed with hustling for food and despite all that, smiling and staying strong
The first RE on the train tracks to Frankfurt and on the 50 bus
Today they don’t laugh anymore when I drive by with SadiQ and they look at your brake lights
Fuck your fake push
They see my respect but call it weakness
Fuck fake faces, fuck rats in circles
Fuck your secret eye, fuck Enes—
At sixteen in Dubai, I almost went to jail
Tzz, but they say: Haaland lacks realness
Alhamdulillah, converted on the same day
Then it was Jibril against Haram and Iblis
I tell it all, just like it is
Because this dunya is hypocritical
If you rap about the same topics as the others, hate comes just because you’re German in Germany
But no hate brings me down, as long as Haaland and SadiQ play Tiki-Taka
And despite my blonde hair, I say bismillah before meals more often than they do

(STXRM throwin' flames, boy)

Suddenly Haaland was number one in the scene, City Carthage
All eyes on me, brought the Tiki-Taka flow (Tick, tick, tick)
They say: He’s gonna be big, then can play Champions League with Aymen, Amo
Salam, brother, Aymen, greetings to Sami’s stream
Then C, Baile, and Eredivisie
YouTubers with no clue react to me as the title
Because the clicks came from Haaland
Meanwhile, I also wrote a few hits for the others, haven’t taken any of that cash till today
Go ask Sami, still they said my lyrics aren’t real
But the others, what they don’t know, I wrote both (Haha)
It was like two perspectives
Cash with rap or dealing dry packs (Tek-tek, tek-tek)
In the end, I stuffed every mouth with my song Rattenhaut
By then they realized: This guy really has it all
Yeah, the long hair stands out, fucked everything under eighteen
But someone who can do it all will always be hated for it (Duh, duh)
I turned haters into fans and the nines kept growing
But the nines from the start have a different value
That it came to this honored me greatly, from then on, finally no one spoke
But the fucking winner of RLR, bitch, bitch

Put a space, let me tell you about the downsides
People who came up because of you become like arch-enemies
If you have it all, you always want to tear more, tzz
But you don’t even notice, the higher you climb, how it actually pulls you down
Because what good is all this if you see your mom less often?
There’s a difference between us, they do it for fame and the cool car
While I fight against hate until it gets us out of here
No five-star steak in the world tastes as good as mom’s carrot stew
And anyone who says again: Haaland doesn’t write his lyrics, every line here is self-written, I swear to God
Believe me, I really never want to stash stuff under the couch again in my life
Today a role model for so many people, but unfortunately not a good big brother

Fuck, fuck (Heh), fuck, Cho

Fuck-your-mother music, that’s the message
Performing in front of forty thousand at the Brandenburg Gate
And too many bitches calling the old number
(Hey, Haaland, what’s up?) Oh, step aside
Today I buy mom everything she wants
And you son of a bitch, whatever pleases some woman
Which seventeen-year-old was at Splash Festival
And a week later on stage in Frauenfeld? Come on
Who wants to test? You’re just a few barking Kahis
Who wants to fuck? I’ll fuck him with Afghan slaps
Commenting on TikTok, but I’m not sure
If you can say anything at tables where I sat with a hundred years of jail
Puta Madre, what do you want to do?
Bitch, shut your mouth, now comes eighteen years of long hair, Assassin
Your eye bounces off like a full magazine from a Walther P on Amarith (Brr)
I was the first rapper to name himself after a footballer
The first to make half a million through rap in school age
One of the few who doesn’t change for Moulaga
Who does it all for mom, not for putas
Who went under the skin with Rattenhaut like a birthmark
The 2024 Best Newcomer
Say what you want, this boy remains unique
Those were my hundred bars, bitch.