Until I Collapse

Until I Collapse

Beyond death itself, I spit fire until I collapse; I want my top dollar, and I want it before four o'clock. This moment belongs to me—I’m giving it my all. I’ve got the energy of a fighter—four times over, in fact. Don't you look down on my shit; I can't afford to lose a single battle. I put all these shitty situations down on paper. Let's see if I can catapult myself to the peak of serotonin and trigger an adrenaline rush. The crowd is foaming with hunger as I boost my self-confidence through my articulation. So here is what I do—listen to me now—and focus on this very moment, right here and now. I smoke cigarettes, listen to music, and celebrate the day with a beer. I think I’m catching fire again—that’s just the Red Bull kicking in; I make no apologies for it. You can’t take away my intellectual property, you absolute zero. I love Maschek, but I hate Strache and his shtick—just as much as I hate Kickl, whose stupid mouth I’m still planning to shut for good. I’m charging into battle now—ready to drop jaws and bring the house down!

The moment a verse begins, I devour a rapper alive. You can't win this fight, you know—my lyrics lash out like a whip. What is this bullshit?

Faced with my skill, you’ll be consumed by envy. My stance hits hard—and this won't be the last time, you know the score. My rhymes could make a building crumble. It’s absurd—people hang on my every word like a seatbelt. My thoughts are sporadic; my behavior is nomadic. I swoop down like a hawk—and right now, I’ve got absolutely no inhibitions. You want trouble? You are absolutely wasted.

I’ll tear you to shreds with my lyrics—

Until I’m finally free of this filth, this garbage. And I stretch out, aching terribly after the binge, because you just don’t get it: capitalism terrifies me. Your pecker is sticky and filthy. I’m frantic amidst your skepticism; I verbally tear you apart. You truly don’t get it. And finally, my mental backup system will tear you to shreds—it’s terrifying.

I’ve got a list—these rappers have that certain something for me. Here we go: Dame, Kollegah, Majoe, Celo, Abdi. Honestly, I don’t think there’s ever been anyone more badass. Then Jay-Z, Tupac, Biggie, Em, Iggy. And only then do I say: If I weren't on any of these lists, I suppose I could live with that. But in this society, I’m a target for intolerance and hate. Because—despite being a woman—I’ve still got a dick. And it blows the lid right off the barrel. That’s why I walk around acting like I don’t give a damn about anything—but the judgment and the struggle for pride are pure torture. (Insert Name here)—sing the hook again!