[Verse 1: Berlin street-rap male MC, clipped and cold on the kick] Sunday, six in the morning, field looks like a war Forty thousand people left the party on the floor Glitter in the mud and a tent without a pole Bottles in the grass like the grass got rich and sold Cart from the market with a wheel that wants to quit Gloves from the hardware and a bag for every bit Twenty-five cents for the plastic, eight for the glass Kids with painted faces holding noses as they pass Pfand, pfand, every bottle is a coin Every coin a brick and every brick is mine to join [Hook: Berlin street-rap male MC, every bar landing on the snare] You call it empties, I call it rent You threw it on the ground, I know where it went Every can you crushed is a cent in my hand You call it empties, I am buying up the land [Verse 2: Berlin street-rap male MC, faster, glass clinks on the off-beat] Promoter in a golf cart, sunglasses at dawn Said hey, rat, get the bottles off the VIP lawn I said danke, Chef, and I picked up every one Champagne in a magnum, that one's worth a ton Nine years, same field, same cart, same coat Every euro in a sock and every sock a little boat Bank man laughed until I poured it on the desk Coins on the carpet like a jackpot, what a mess Counted for an hour and his face went gray Said sir, this is a down payment, have a nice day [Hook: Berlin street-rap male MC, every bar landing on the snare] You call it empties, I call it rent You threw it on the ground, I know where it went Every can you crushed is a cent in my hand You call it empties, I am buying up the land [Bridge: Berlin street-rap male MC, low and slow over the riff] Farmer Krause wanted out, his back was done Sold me the field where the festival is run Shook my hand with dirt still on it Said nobody ever paid me in coins, I want it [Verse 3: Berlin street-rap male MC, grinning, standing on the field] Monday, golf cart rolling up the gravel road Promoter with a contract and a very heavy load Says who owns the field, we need the summer lease I said me, the rat, sit down, have a piece Rent went up a little, call it bottle tax Twenty-five cents per ticket on the little stacks Signed it on the hood of his shiny black car Now the bottle man is sleeping where the headliners are [Final Hook: Berlin street-rap male MC, half-step lift, the whole band jumps up a half step] You call it empties, I call it rent You threw it on the ground, I know where it went Every can you crushed is a cent in my hand You call it empties, I am buying up the land [Outro: Berlin street-rap male MC] Leave your bottles, I will see you in the morning [End]
