Bon Voyage [English translation]

When it starts to get good, and it finally takes off

You stare, as if you all lived behind the moon

Feel the flow, the show is starting

Raps come big, and that's just how we like it

Fat beats come in your ear like Q-Tips

Sounds good, right? Come closer so that you get a lift

My crew eats mics for lunch like chives

Even when I'm sober I sound as if I'm smoking shit

If you need hits, you don't have to listen to ABBA

Because here come these amazing brats, who burn mics like tobacco

This beat beats the eardrum to a pulp

Because we love this shit like kids love ding-dong-ditch

[Hook]

Nod to the beat and move your ass

If it's Deichkind on the mic, bon voyage

Please give me more of that hot shit

When you play that, my legs get weak

Nod with the beat and move your ass

If it's Deichkind on the mic, bon voyage

Please give us more of that hot shit

Cause we can't get enough of this Deichkind style

Check that out, the brats are ready to go, yeah

Without a map, since we were already there anyways

Prick up your ears, the kids are big-time

Because we're at a showdown I tell you cheers to that

When I let loose, it looks stupid to you (word to that)

Beats make us higher than on a skyscraper

I'm so on it, cause in this circle I fit in

So please nod, gold digger, if you know what I mean

[Hook]

Boys with woop style, shake your heads

Girls with hot-tops, shake your braids

You have the honour of four northerners today

So throw your hands up in the atmosphere

Because that here mutates, guaranteed to be a long-runner

Three Deichkind singers, with Nina as a common denominator

Once inside, you don't get enough like a cliffhanger

Today I chop up my page, as if I were pale water

This Deichkind, this is the reason

So what boy, what girl, put your foot down

It's too phat, you think, swing what you have to the bass

[Hook]

Watch out, because here come the the rascals

The beats drive, like cowboys cattle in Texas

(check that) I dribble with words, like a slob

And say (peep, peep) "Bonne appetit, how does it taste?"

If I used the microphone old-school

You'd never come down, like junkies with drug addictions

Cause the shit must be on top, like pilots in jumbo jets

In terms of raps we make the tracks full and fat

You know that, so why do you look so surprised

And dance so violently, that you scrub the ground with your feet

Turn the Walkman on, we're feeding the earplug

So nod to the beat and shake your head

[Hook x2]