Текст и перевод песни BAP - Müsli Män (Schrank-Version) (Remastered 2007)

Müsli Män (Schrank-Version) (Remastered 2007)

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 (Remastered 2007)

I was standing peacefully at the fry stand,
Suddenly there you were, with a flaming sword and sacred halo,
Long blonde hair, bare feet only wearing sandals,
You floated towards me, and messianically spat on my curry sausage.
I said, "Excuse me, who are you?"
"Typical that you don't know me, I'm the Müsli Man."
A few days later I was standing in the bar,
And I felt it: you were there.
I had just ordered my first beer,
And there you were, incognito: Your blonde hair, dyed red with henna,
A scarf from Al-Fatah. I said:
"Hey, listen, forget the beer, let's drink some apple juice."
You laughed and didn't take me seriously at all.
"Psst," I said, "Man, the Müsli Man is standing over there."
The next day was especially bad, on the motorway.
An understated women's bicycle, white, imported from Amsterdam,
Stopped the bus with our equipment inside,
Just before Wesseling and confiscated it,
Everything electrical, leaving us with just a tambourine.
Of course, I know immediately who did it:
It was the Müsli Man.
We were really pissed off, that's for sure.
We were now really pissed off.
And then - flexible as we are - we quickly changed our repertoire to skiffle.
Major Banjo, Axel Xylophone, me on the clarinet,
Wolli on the washboard, Schmal on the sousaphone,
- Instead of bass, now a tuba. Only Fonz on the mixer,
He was a fan, because Fonz had the day off today,
Thanks to our Müsli Man.
Then before the performance, I looked into the hall,
As I always do.
Before stage fright hits me in the throat:
"Oh, what an audience!"
Especially that tough guy makes me even more nervous,
The chieftain there, with a mohawk, who greets me with such a malicious grin.
I think, "I'm getting nervous, I'm sick!
The Müsli Man is standing there in front of me as a punk."