Paroles et traduction BAP - Müsli Män

Müsli Män

Ich stund friedlich en der Frittenbuud
Plötzlich woore do, met su 'nem Feuerschwert und Heiljenschein
Lange blonde Hoor, bläcke Fööß met nur Sandale draan
Schweb hä op mich zo, speut messjanisch op ming Currywoosch
Ich saare: "Hühr ens, wer bess do?
Typisch, dat do mich nit kenns, ich benn dä Müsli-Män
Paar Daach späder stonn ich en der Kneip
Do spür ich: hä ess do
Ich hatt mer jraad et eezte Bier bestellt
Do sinn ich en, inkognito: Sing blonde Hoor, met Henna ruutjefärf
Ne Schal vun Al-Fatach, Ich saare
"Weet, hühr zo, verjess dat Bier, dunn mir ne Appelsaff
Dä laach, un nimmp mieh janit ähnz
"PST", saach ich, "Mann, do steiht dä Müsli-Män
Am nächsten Daach woot et besonders fies, op der Autobahn
E Understatement-Damenfahrrad, wieß, Import uss Amsterdam
Stopp dä Buss met unsrer Aanlaach drin
Koot vüür Wesseling un konfisziert dat
Wat elektrisch ess un lööt uns nur dä Tambourin
Klar - wer dat woor, verroot ich jähn
Dat woor dä Müsli Män
Mir wooren tierisch sauer, ess doch klar
Eez hammer ens jetob
Donoh - flexibel - flöck uns Repertoire op Skiffel ömjeprob
Dä Major Bänjo, Axel Xylophon, ich met 'ner Klarinett
Ahm Waschbrett Wolli, Schmal ahm Susaphon
- Statt Baß en Tuba jetz. Nur dä Fonz ahm Mixer
Dä woor Fän, weil dä Fonz hatt frei hück
Dank unsrem Müsli-Män
Dann koot vüürm Auftritt luhr ich en dä Saal
Wie ich dat immer dunn
Vüür Lampenfieber schläät mer't Häzz em Hals
"Oh, wat e Publikum!"
Vüür allen Dingen do dä Härtetyp mäht mich verstärkt nervös
Dä Häuptling do, met Irokesenschnitt, dä mich su hämisch grööß
Ich denk: "Ich spenne, ich benn krank
Do steht der Müsli-Män als Punk!

Müsli Man

I stood peacefully at the chip stand
Suddenly there you were, with such a fiery sword and holy shine
Long blond hair, bare feet with only sandals on
Float towards me, spewing messianic onto my curry sausage
I say: "Listen, who are you?
Typical, that you don't know me, I'm the Müsli Man
A few days later, I'm standing in the pub
Then I feel it: he's there
I had just ordered my first beer
Then I see you, incognito: Your blond hair, dyed red with henna
A scarf from Al-Fatach, I say
"Listen, listen, forget the beer, give me an apple juice
He laughs and doesn't take me seriously
"Hey!", I say, "Man, the Müsli Man is standing there
The next day was particularly nasty, on the motorway
An understated women's bike, white, imported from Amsterdam
Stop the bus with our equipment in it
Just before Wesseling and confiscated it
Whatever was electric and only left us the tambourine
Of course - I'll reveal who it was right away
That was the Müsli Man
We were furious, of course
So we got angry for once
Then - flexible - changed our repertoire to skiffle
Major Bänjo, Axel Xylophone, me with a clarinet
Wolli on the washboard, Schmal on the sousaphone
- Instead of a bass, a tuba now. Only Fonz on the mixer
He was a fan, because Fonz had the day off today
Thanks to our Müsli Man
Then, before the gig, I take a peek into the hall
Like I always do
Stage fright makes my heart pound in my throat
"Oh, what an audience!"
Above all, the tough guy type makes me extra nervous
That chief there, with a mohawk, who grins at me so maliciously
I think: "I'm freaking out, I'm sick
There stands the Müsli Man as a punk!