Hebt euer Glas
Herrenzimmer Produktion
Raise your glass!
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Raise your glass, hey party’s on, full throttle to doom
Raise your glass and party till dawn I’m drinking my courage, because I’m dreading tomorrow Your mom wants to take me home, but I want to drink up I don’t give a fuck about love, because methyl also makes you blind, suicide attack I’m coming with eleven sports, bags full of cold beer bottles Today is Father’s Day, can’t walk anymore, but run out, awake in the hospital, if at all. Party’s if you’re still alive anyway.
Raise your glass, whether you like it or not, men’s table setting. Drink to me! I’ve got my head in neck, gallow. My drink’s not tasty, but good We’re as tasteless as Flavor Flav I’m about to puke, it’s eleven to eleven This isn’t crash and burn, it’s an emergency landing Lying in vomit till morning, like a rock in the surf
Raise your glass to the edge of the stage The mob is thirsty Gives me vodka pure, until I fall on the stool Not even to piss away from the bar I wear Pampers, but it smells like a men’s locker room at a pensioner’s sport Mother fucker, we redefine hardcore Fuck cocaine, give me the defibrillator, boy The evening costs 40 euros and two months of life But after the booze is before the booze Full throttle into all eternity
Raise your glass and I’ll pour you all a drink The next day there’s only one and we’ll celebrate with lumberjack steak and brewery cellar pride I’ll come to your party like a bandit hero Give away your possessions and your mates will love it You live a day in style, I’ll live Rumpelstiltskin style Today I sleep, tomorrow I drink, the day after tomorrow I’ll make your wife a baby in the construction workers’ pub.
——————-
Raise your glass, hey party’s on, full throttle to doom
Raise your glass and party till dawn I’m drinking my courage, because I’m dreading tomorrow Your mom wants to take me home, but I want to drink up I don’t give a fuck about love, because methyl also makes you blind, suicide attack I’m coming with eleven sports, bags full of cold beer bottles Today is Father’s Day, can’t walk anymore, but run out, awake in the hospital, if at all. Party’s if you’re still alive anyway.
Raise your glass, whether you like it or not, men’s table setting. Drink to me! I’ve got my head in neck, gallow. My drink’s not tasty, but good We’re as tasteless as Flavor Flav I’m about to puke, it’s eleven to eleven This isn’t crash and burn, it’s an emergency landing Lying in vomit till morning, like a rock in the surf
Raise your glass to the edge of the stage The mob is thirsty Gives me vodka pure, until I fall on the stool Not even to piss away from the bar I wear Pampers, but it smells like a men’s locker room at a pensioner’s sport Mother fucker, we redefine hardcore Fuck cocaine, give me the defibrillator, boy The evening costs 40 euros and two months of life But after the booze is before the booze Full throttle into all eternity
Raise your glass and I’ll pour you all a drink The next day there’s only one and we’ll celebrate with lumberjack steak and brewery cellar pride I’ll come to your party like a bandit hero Give away your possessions and your mates will love it You live a day in style, I’ll live Rumpelstiltskin style Today I sleep, tomorrow I drink, the day after tomorrow I’ll make your wife a baby in the construction workers’ pub.