Well I wake up frontin' like i ain't hung over
Read the paper, discover that the Germans have annexed Grover,
Cookie, Kermie, Piggie and all the rest
There ain't a single domestically controlled muppet left
Is it a plot? some kind of conspiracy?
My coffee's cold, there's a bitter taste to my cinnamon roll
I venture forth into the bright american day
My neighbor Mister Hess says "Wie gehts?" and waves
I hurry away
Get in my chrysler (whew). oh the dismay!
Somebody's replaced all of my Backstreet Boys with Kraftwerk tapes
All right, I'm freaked out, i hope it's a joke
I hear the ominous industrial beat of a two-stroke engine
The benz on my left? the bug on my right?
A fleet of six trabants encroaching behind!
At the wheel of the lead Trabi, a visage of fear!
Red'n'yellow eyes, black gloves gripping the steer!
And it dawns upon me, what chance have I got?
It's KOMPRESSOR, and he's chosen for crushing, MC Frontalot

RAPPERS WE CRUSH, FINGERS TO DUST
KOMPRESSOR DIGEST VOCALS AND SPIT OUT MUSH
YOU TRY FRONT WITH RHYMES
STOLEN FROM THE JACKSON FIVE
ERASE YOUR TAPES AT NIGHT
YOU COWER FROM KOMPRESSOR MIGHT

But I don't wanna be crushed! Burried in fear! Left for töt!
Synthesizer might, tearing the rhymes right outta my throat!
Leave my car at the light and run, I make for the park
Pursued by steel-toed jack-boots throwing sparks as they march
And I can hear the gnashing of the yellow teeth
(YOU CANNOT HIDE, RAPPER GEEK!)
I'm dodging german shepherds playing frisbee with hippies,
making hair-pin turns like horror movie heroines and slipping
Back on my feet, his breath on my neck
It smells of baked infants and fried cheese (SCHLECHT!!)
Run! you'll surely suffer crushing if you sit still
Hop the chain-link to the abandoned wienerschnitzel...

What did I do to deserve this? What was my crime?
Was it because I sampled Die Toten Hosen that one time?
And I'm reviewing my life cowered under a grease trap
The bootslap stepping ever closer with its click-clack
Now he's here... now he's crouching down...
Jaws creak open, ants start pouring out
And just when my flesh is about to get devoured
I wake up screaming, wrapped in the sour sweat-stained sheets
It takes a minute to get up
Stumble to the table, read the paper, clear my head up
Still hurts, what'd I drink all that goldschlager for?
Business section: EM.TV bought Jim Henson Corp.

RAPPERS WE CRUSH, FINGERS TO DUST
KOMPRESSOR DIGEST VOCALS AND SPIT OUT MUSH
YOU TRY FRONT WITH RHYMES
STOLEN FROM THE JACKSON FIVE
ERASE YOUR TAPES AT NIGHT
YOU COWER FROM KOMPRESSOR MIGHT