Mozambique [OTHERLiiNE Remix]

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Ghetts

Justin Clarke (born 9 October 1984), better known by his stage name Ghetts (formerly Ghetto) is an English Grime rapper from Plaistow, East London with Caribbean roots from Jamaica and Grenada. His music has been played on national radio stations such as BBC Radio 1, Kiss 100, BBC Asian Network and BBC Radio 1Xtra. Currently, Ghetts is signed to independent record label Disrupt, and released his debut studio album, Rebel with a Cause, on 9 March 2014. Known for his hard hitting lyrics and intricate rhyme schemes, he is associated and has toured internationally with such acts as Kano and was a member of NASTY Crew. more »

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Umnqundu wamapolisa sana
Ndithe umnqundu wamapolisa

(Are you ready?)

Make some, make some mean dough
Make some real mean dough
Make some real mean dough, dough
What's wrong with these man?
Make some real mean dough

Make some real mean dough
Make some real mean dough, dough
What's wrong with these man?
Make some, make some mean

Yo, what's wrong with these neeks?
Man can't tell me about these streets
Man never grew up near no damn beach
Mans got shooters from Mozambique
Shoot off nose and beak
So you lot roll in peace
But if you gotta somethin' to say
Do not hold in please
They' say death comes in twa
So I do not roll in threes
Are you lot dying to piss?
'Cause you look like your holding piece
Pull up, pull up stolen Jeep
Hood up, hood up phone the police
Push up your bolt and bleed
I heard they cook up the coke and leave
Mans going in there now
I'm just up the road indeed
I, I swear I search everywhere
Like I'm looking for phone and keys
Knife in the wind, poke and breeze
I wish your girl never saw that
Poor Candice
Four man deep
One felt froggy they saw man leap
Run tell Donnie and crawl back week
All that week, ooh that's week
Hole in your brain
You ain't gotta thought that deep
Man think I'm missing the drop
What? I caught the clean

I don't know bro
I don't know, speak the streets bro
Only way dawg
Cops don't know, pay the streets dough
Sell some real green dope
Sell some real green dope
Make some real mean dough
Make some, make some mean dough

Make some real mean dough
Make some real mean dough, dough

What's wrong with these man?
Can't tell me about twenty-eight gram
Grew up on curry and rice not ham
Man I got shooters from Pakistan
Shoot shoot off after your fam
Rooftop like Taliban
So let me give you lot some advice
And stop stunting like Jackie Chan
Yeah, they say you are what you eat
And I still ain't been Hakkasan
And ask them who started the beef?
I ain't slid 'round yet, that's a plan
Roll up, stolen Mangane
Whole lotta smoke for your gang
Folding notes in my hand
Yeah I told him phone me up when it lands
Yeah this beefs kobe cut from Japan
Whole leap of cuts on my hand
You can put me in the World Cup final
And I throw headbutts like Zidane
No if's, but's I'm the man
Toolbox loading the van
Fam, all of this bullshit just 'cause he owed him a grand
Come through, twenty man deep
Silence, can't hear any man speak
Nightmares, can't get any more sleep
Forget those who got buried last week?
I keep things sweet
On my table I let every man eat
And I wish I has a girl who would let a man cheat

I don't know bro
I don't know, speak the streets bro
Only way dawg
Cops don't know, pay the streets dough
Sell some real green dope
Sell some real green dope
Make some real mean dough
Make some, make some mean dough

Make some real mean dough
Make some real mean dough

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