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Plastic cups, Promethazine and Sprite Man I don't really know who's song is this Who's weed I'm stealing and who's bong is this And I don't really give
Ain't unique to South London tie-ins Courted by the niche of childhood A relative short part of my life But when progress is idle Think back to relatives
Who the man behind the World Trade massacres, step up now Where the four planes at huh is you insane bitch? Fly that shit over my hood and get blown
soldier, kind soldier, will you marry me? Oh no, pretty lady, that never could be I've a true love in London who's waitin' for me Two loves in the army's too
the blessed mic christ Just a man but a spirit nonetheless Who leaves behind a catalog and finally can come to rest He's survived by a tribe that extends
Wey Dey bother man Many matter dey Wey man no fit cast Wey man no fit cast Na only baba loke if yawa don gas If yawa don gas olomi loma re Won ni
a book by di cover, dat's wrong This a Fat Joe and Buju Banton Tell them, what about Pun? Rudeboy, salute with your gun Buju Banton, original rasta
a dem a badder than man a Original bad man dagger Cause Man a man a Rock star baby See me living the life eh... Cause Man a man a Rock Star baby I'd
Mafia, Boy Better Know My ones, my team Meridian, bad blocks London boys, active boys You get me?" Man get money with the gang Man get girls with
round (Original track and ting, mmm) You know you can't buy these things (no) See Stefani and her L.A.M.B., I rock the Fetish people You know who I am
somebody do it shout 'AJ T' 'Cause I fathered the flow, fathered the styley Bare man wanna be a AJ follower I need workers so it's fine by me I'll
Now you listen here boys I'm a very old man compared to y'all And I didn't come here to be harassed by your pals For some donuts So if ya'll would
the ones who keep and tend the fire Cast you down to the hell below Cast you down to the hell below and watch you burn We are the ones who speak eternal
tired of all y'all crab ass rappers Bucktown home of the Original Gunn Clappaz Use to be on ocean by the street empire See my man Buckshot on Bushwick
idols Cast in silver and gold I boast in the Lord The servant of the poor Now CHORUS Blessed is the man that trod In the ways of God Never turn by back
be the day, 'cause everybody sound like everybody anyway Man, there's only twelve notes to a scale Nothing's original under the sun, nothin' new
of this shit, y'know? Time, it took a while for man to recognise, boy, who you were gonna send And you know what? Mans, I'm very proud I'm very happy
of friends Those who tell the truth an won't pretend Those who are there from start to the end That's the type of friends I recommend Star.One, City Nil Gary
African That's my fam African Original man African Royally grand African Is what I am Africa In me, I got the soul of Heru Damage like Jeru
a realer story than most rappers Blown more money than most trappers Couple grand to a couple milli' Who's fucking with me? I really came up in London city
man? Who's the original, who's the biochemical Who's the grafted digital, digital, digital, digital Digital Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo Two hundred
then who she might ask About this question that had been cast For adults, she had been told, you see Are part of this conspiracy But in her mind
A million people march when you Try to enter London Town Do another speech to inspire The next militant May your nightmares be haunted By vexed immigrants
Ya ya ya ya Ya ya ya ya Ya ya ya ya Normal (Yeah yeah) Oh yeah (Minzulode) Who God don bless Say no man can curse They must feel the gbedu omo na by
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