| Who? |
| Me, listen.
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| This time when we splash, trust we’re gonna splash
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| They’re gonna come up runnin' and pun us with their mash
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| Men are gonna stand firm, some are gonna dash
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| Some of them boys just ain’t ready for the clash
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| When you don’t see your life past you by in a flash
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| Cuz others wanna hate on the fat Jamaic' cash
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| Everything they’ve tried to achieve has even crashed
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| They’re left walkin' up and down road lookin' brassed
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| Alas, most of them men are fassio’s
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| Every two weeks they have to sign for dole
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| I’m on another level blood, check it, I’m-a roll
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| Rippin' down any spark with my famine toll
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| You don’t know how that go, any way you want it
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| Settin' you which way, blood I’m on it, so run it
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| Who? |
| Me, listen.
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| I used to roll deep with a crew of nasty soldiers
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| Now I hold heat, carryin' that weight on my shoulders
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| The way that I’ve been raised is too much to get over
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| The way the streets have tried to mould us then hold us to the pavement
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| Now we’re facin' modern day enslavement
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| Gettin' shift, lookin' at the world behind the jail fence
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| Twenty three hours locked down is how your day’s spent
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| Thinkin' 'bout the way all of my old school braves went
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| Cuz I been here puttin' it down for years
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| I watch my silence, screams will break the death ears
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| Nothings left here but a holy but fuckery
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| All over the country road is lookin' ugly, trust me
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| From the age of ten years old
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| Certain runnings that I’ve been through remain untold
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| Who? |
| Me.
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| That’s why I resurface, cause everything I hear sounds worthless
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| Man who wanna play your part, they know your purpose
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| I know my heart, my rhyme’s stomp full of curses
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| Makin' every one around me start actin' nervous
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| Call doctors and nurses, emergency services
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| Pull it back like cartwheel spin reverses
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| Check my verses, the way I’m puttin' 'em down
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| The way I’m shuttin' 'em down, I’m not fuckin' around
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| I’m cleanin' up town like some old street sweepers
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| In broad daylight, I roll with night time creepers
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| Whoever want to eat us, beef us or show my peeps love
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| The others can meet their Grim Reapers
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| Forget bein' six feet deep dug, it don’t matter
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| After I’ve left ya with ya scull bone shattered
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| The heads that you see me roll ain’t no rappers
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| Gun clappers who live like nuttin don’t matter |