| The world, it is big
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| Mark my words
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| I enjoy where I live
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| But I miss Sudan and the red earth
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| My father, my sister and my brother… ye-ah
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| Sheep World it is big
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| Mark my words
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| I miss my mother
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| When I follow my heart to where the pepper grows
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| And where the music lives in every single word… ye-ah
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| I am born in Denmark
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| I have it at home
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| I have a root there, and
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| from there my world goes
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| But I hesitate year after year
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| Can't see the whole wide world where
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| i will grow old, settle down and build my farm… ye-ah
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| Should I stay with my mother?
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| And the harsh winters in the cold North
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| Or should I search south along tropical rhythm tracks
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| Help me Odin and Thor!
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| I travel away again and relieve my heaviness
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| Full gallop in the hot desert wind
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| The horse it is christened and bought by Bin Laden,
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| I win the race as the first woman
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| and Sudan is over… Never
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| have I felt so loved and so at home'
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| The family and the many smiles make me forget. |
| to
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| the Danish language is my mother's voice'
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| Calling me shortly
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| with a sigh, I polish my wing
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| To turn your nose due north again
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| But something inside me is pulling towards the Caribbean
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| There is a melody
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| So simple and so free, I sing along, because it has settled inside me
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| Denmark you are freezing now
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| Humans they shudder now
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| Long is your winter
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| I hum it about hyacinths, but
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| I know the sun is gone again
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| And I have to go far to find it
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| So I turn to my music and I grab paper and pen… ye-ah
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| I write songs about mixed blood
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| about the storm raging in my head'
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| About choosing or choosing, about being, about showing courage... excess
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| It doesn't matter how Danish I am
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| I will always be her «The little darkness there»
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| "Are you adopted?"
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| «Are you from India?»
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| «Do you have a father?»
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| "Where are you from?"
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| And I have to answer: «Island's Brygge, it's clear»
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| I feel Danish and it's easy to blend in
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| But there will always be a Pia, a Johnny and an Evensen,
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| who think I'm too stupid and ugly and should be sent home
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| But fuck them now, because I know the whole world is my home
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| Come again!
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| In Sudan I have love and kinship
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| But the career is missing and I'm not going to get married
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| Jamaica has my career in check
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| There's gallop and there's backup when I flex lyrics
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| Watcha, Yo that little white girl deh can sing
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| Bombocloth yo little white girl eah go be
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| Where deh white girl come from
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| I drive the blob when I talk like them
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| I hear my songs rule Irie FM
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| And even though they like me and they love my voice
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| Then I'm much whiter and smell far away from money, Eay
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| I try my luck year after year
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| And I know exactly where I stand
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| In Sudan, I am a pale fart
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| And in Denmark the Black Sheep,.Mæhhh
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| (AFTER 9 MIN.)
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| Why go and look
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| Christiania and all of Denmark have the fat one
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| It spills over the borders every eternal day
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| We smoke when we want
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| Tjallen is everywhere
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| It spills over the borders throughout Europe
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| All of Denmark has the fat one
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| Let's smoke in peace,
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| for the tons pour over the borders every eternal eternal single day
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| Yes Yes
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| He stands puffing on a smoke,
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| in his light summer clothes,
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| on the Riviera where the price is high (eh-eh)
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| A crooked smile in his eye',
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| as he shoots himself in his shirt,
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| checking the sky and thinking about a day,
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| there is the worst paranoia,
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| just a finished joke,
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| if ik' The police sabotage his convoy
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| I call him the Prince of Morocco',
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| for he fills my cup,
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| and he supplies every smoker on my block!
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| CHORUS:
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| tjalala flows between countries,
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| tjalalala flows over borders,
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| just whiff past a border armor
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| Tjalalala floats over waters,
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| tjalala flows between countries,
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| tjalalala flows over borders,
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| much more than you care!
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| He breathes a sigh of relief.
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| and sends a message
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| It says: 'So the bag's home baby, so' fat',
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| I call him Wakehals Frede,
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| and he has tjalalala with him,
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| through town to my friend standing on the street (ya-eh)
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| My brave friend, his name is Bent,
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| and he is fairly well known,
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| so he checks the land before he breaks the blade,
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| for Mr. |
| Officer he's in town,
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| to fade the color palette,
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| but it shines even if the state sets the record straight
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| CHORUS:
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| just whiff past a border armor |
| Tjalalala floats over waters,
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| much more than you care!
|
| She shuts down her mail,
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| while she smiles in her soul,
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| and thinks: 'Cool! |
| I'm a bit of a rebel
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| She runs the whole shit herself,
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| has store and staff,
|
| has no debt and she needs no help
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| She knows exactly what she wants, yes
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| and what she can take,
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| because she'll be happy when she goes to chachacha, yes
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| She is a single mother of two,
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| and she lives in Holstebro,
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| and now it's time for some peace and tranquility!
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| So - she makes sure the kids are put to bed,
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| before she smokes her tjalalala-lala,
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| she knows it is forbidden consumption,
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| and it costs a lot of money,
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| so she smokes her tjalalala in sleek!
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| CHORUS:
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| just whiff past a border armor
|
| Tjalalala floats over waters,
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| much more than you care!
|
| In a small boat rocking gently in Hellerup Harbour,
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| sits the fine little Mrs. and Mr. |
| Raven (eh-eh),
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| they drink fine spiced wine,
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| with a nice curled name,
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| while enjoying themselves with Yatsi and Palav (eh-eh),
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| see the comfort it has no demands,
|
| but upon you a lesser want,
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| for a little tjalala ku' do good,
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| if you have money you can get it,
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| that's not how it was supposed to go,
|
| for tjalala it is forbidden and difficult to reach!
|
| But Raven will soon be fucking loud and fuckin' holy about it,
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| if he should get a trip behind bars
|
| He is a good businessman,
|
| and it is beyond his understanding,
|
| how the government is throwing money into the water
|
| If they now legally did the tjall,
|
| and took a little tax on the ball,
|
| was there more pocket money for us all
|
| Tjalalala overflows,
|
| Tjalalala overflows,
|
| Tjalalala overflows,
|
| Tjalalala overflows,
|
| CHORUS:
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| just whiff past a border armor
|
| Ha!
|
| Tjalalala floats over waters,
|
| tjalala flows between countries,
|
| tjalalala flows over borders,
|
| much more than you care!
|
| Chistiania, Denmark
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| Stand together
|
| Get out of the closets
|
| Show you smoke the fat one
|
| We know there are 2 million people who smoke the fat
|
| every eternal eternal single day
|
| The police walk around Christiania every single day
|
| The tons spill over the borders...
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| Natasja — I was born in Denmark
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| Written down by Victoria S.
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| 2008 February 2 |