Verse One:
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Boom bye bye/in a botty bwoy head/
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the shottie fly now/the botty guy lie dead/
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2 shots dead to him chin/enemy or friend/
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fake the funk/I put the junk to an end/
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Now who da rude bwoy/wan come tess dogg/
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I find his family/to I.D. em in da morgue/
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I bet you never thought I bust led/
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Surprise/I'm a fortified blunt head just like a dread/
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You cant tess the champion sound/You gettin bucked down/
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recognize the boot camp click/outta Bucktown/
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Gun thirsty little bastard/always blasted/
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from the sess of chocolate/from my dick gastin/
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You say you number one wicked selecta/
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I say you punani/and I wetcha/
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Keep the bull/before I pull this here trigga/
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cause you don't wanna tess me/when I'm tipsy off the liquor/
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Like a punk they call McGirt/got his feelings hurt/
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showed his true colors/had to yank up his skirt/
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now he's in misery/tryin to cop a plea/
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led to his head/from gun clapper number 3/
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see/lick off a shot you no dick rida/
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lick a shot punani/not gun fire/
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Now everybody wanna be Don GaGa/
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all around New York niggas be talkin/but we be stalkin/
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in the dark when the gun starts barkin/
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but in the day/be wary of where you be walkin/
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Chorus
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DON'T...DON'T....DON'T you ever mention bout you wan
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tess the champion sound/
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leave it to de people that can you know that can
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when people see them a ball fa
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LEAVE!
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Verse Two:
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Me naw sex/me ruff like the wicked you fe me/
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the motherfucker that be buggin over truth you see/
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original/criminal/runnin town/crime pays/
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thats when I practised/your act if/you wan get blasted
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by my nine shot/come around my block/find a nice spot/
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in the Pine box/Murderah...Botty bwoy killa/Golden power filla/
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we bout to get illa/
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Sound bwoy/ya got nuff reason to worry/
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cummin wit my troops/we about to bury/
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betta pack ya dubs and move in a hurry/Ease off sean/
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Lookin at my pager/it's about that time/
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to load up the 9/and do my daily crime/
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warriors/conquerors/the man before ya/
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Mr. Ripper/a.k.a. the enemy killa/
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my man wit the weed/is my man in deed/
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and all you sucky-ducky niggas catch knots wit speed/
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Talkin bout you have sound/ah my sound you wan tess/
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You neva know/that when it comes to championship/
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is we dat have de management/
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and carry mack/use you for good use/cuz wee de good crew
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LEAVE!
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Verse Three:
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Laud!/Some bwoy wan get dead tonite duke/
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as I retrieve the 2-5 from my timboots/
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Target pon sight/trick up and cock/
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adjust your pupils to see a dead bwoy walk/
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Nuff pussyhole gwan die dis year/
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here comes the bootcamp/slide it to the rear/
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Starang cummin like a hurricane lickin shots/
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more untouchable/than niggas wit de chicken pox/
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So/emcees get lifted when I'm spliffted/
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Nigga guard ya grill/cause Louisville packs the biscut/
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In the session/Smif N Wessun/O-G-C/gun clapper number 1/
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wit my nigga D-O-G....
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We bring the realness/feel this/boom it's Black Moon reveal
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this/
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we come to let you know/what the deal is/
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Straight up we serve justice/so if you can't be trusted/
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may you return where the dust is..
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There is many sound thats goin around/and goin on/
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and gwan like a clown/but I'm tellin you..Clean up your act/
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and come to de livestock cuz you a deadstock from mornin to de
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evenin/now everthing changed...
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Sound Bwoy Bureill
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| Smif-N-Wessun |
