[Intro] Prater. Night. Crowd. Only one thing makes sense here. [Verse 1] Golden ring in your hand – no cap, no joke One bite and you know – this ain't your average smoke No sugar‑coat, no BS – handmade from scratch Not from a line, not for a dime – just your catch [Bridge] Fries cut fresh, not from a bag Chef's got flow – every potato's a tag Street food? Nah. Old school in a new rag Prater's lit – and you think: „Man, that's the lag“ [Chorus] Vienna CornDog – that's not fast‑food crap Dough with a story – like a classic, old‑school map Vienna CornDog – take a bite, it's a game You'll come right back – Prater's calling your name [Verse 2] They say life's a choice – so choose with a clue Some talk trash – here, every move's true No lies, no fronts – ingredients that fit And you don't have to act like it tastes like a hit [Bridge 2] You don't have to like it – nobody twists your arm But if you don't try, you'll laugh at your own charm Then you'll come back and say: „Alright, that's the one“ 'Cause Vienna CornDog – ain't a myth, ain't a pun [Final Chorus] Vienna CornDog – that's not fast‑food crap Dough with a story – like a classic, old‑school map Vienna CornDog – take a bite, it's a game You'll come right back – Prater's calling your name [Outro] Vienna CornDog. Prater. You. And taste. That's it.
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