| Lee Milla
|
| Out Clear
|
| A Jah Vinci
|
| What is this?
|
| A Popcaan
|
| And if dem diss, we ago done dem
|
| Rifle shot a burn dem
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| Life lost…
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| When me rise mi Taurus
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| No fling no chat, me nah cuss
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| Me no see no head shot cyan buss
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| To the morgue…
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| Deh so we a send dem
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| Jah Vinci nah go friend dem
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| Head split when me rise the MAC-10
|
| When mi gun dem a clap like choir
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| Fassy dead, all even if him a say him prayer
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| When Jah Vinci gun dem fire
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| Everybody done know a Empire
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| Talk dem a talk, dem a liar
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| Bwoy, you live too long, now your life expire
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| When my rifle claat, bwoy brains jump inna air, go higher
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| Shot bite bwoy like crocodile
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| Man haffi rap up him head like poco child
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| No, the Teacha, him never smile
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| Him make blood run like river Nile
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| Bwoy bawl, «Mi eye! |
| Mi eye!», and drop a dust
|
| Something crash inna him face, but it’s not a bus
|
| Popcaan’s gun dem never rust
|
| No ask if Milla 9 still make head a buss
|
| Life lost…
|
| When me rise mi Taurus
|
| No fling no chat, me nah cuss
|
| Me no see no head shot cyan buss
|
| To the morgue…
|
| Deh so we a send dem
|
| Jah Vinci nah go friend dem
|
| Head split when me rise the MAC-10
|
| Early in the morning me hear she calling
|
| She say, «Answer me please nuh, mi darling!»
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| Realize him cold and she a try warm him
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| True me send fi Pop' and him go corn him
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| Kill him without permission, me never warn him
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| Bullet tear him skin like tarpaulin
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| Me have a rifle big like an awning
|
| So, try know funeral plan inna the morning
|
| Life lost…
|
| When me rise mi Taurus
|
| No fling no chat, me nah cuss
|
| Me no see no head shot cyan buss
|
| To the morgue…
|
| Deh so we a send dem
|
| Jah Vinci nah go friend dem
|
| Head split when me rise the MAC-10 |