Yo, anything reach, dem know say it fall 'pon you
All a the pain and the blame she a put eh 'pon you
Warn dem evil man

Him mother hold her breast and go dung 'pon her knee
Bawl to the sky say, "Lord, tek him please"
Find microwave dead inna cane piece
Diss the wrong man and pick up couple brain piece

Me nah send nobody fi lie dung a admission
Kill every bumbo-rassclaat opposition
Glock 34, .50 round ammunition
A the fuss it a squeeze, a body gone mortician
Bwoy freeze like say him get a vision
Same so him dead, eye open, fly a pitch on
Gun man a buss a no fi normal civilian
So dem a meds wrong if dem think a competition
Yo, Frass

All wha' gwaan, just a likkle girl deh me sorry fah
She alone know the pain
Pussyhole, run all you want
But you cyaan hide from your dutty ways
People a Saint Thomas to this day
Still a talk 'bout your likkle case
Nah talk 'bout murder case

Him mother hold her breast and go dung 'pon her knee
Bawl to the sky say, "Lord, tek him please"
Find microwave dead inna cane piece
Diss the wrong man and end up haffi pay fi it

Yo, Flowa
Wheel out, every thing a squeeze out
.30 clip a fire an' you duppy a leap out (oosh)
You get a week, coming like you weak out
Couldn't gi' the people dem nothing fi tweet 'bout
Dem a laughing stock, real joke
Shot a fire rapid, microwave a scream out
Nah stop talk say you freak out
Any step you mek, jus' know your head a leak out
Oosh, oosh, oosh

A just deh likkle girl deh me sorry fah
She alone know the pain
Pussyhole, run all you want
But you cyaan hide from your dutty ways
People a Saint Thomas to this day
Still a talk 'bout your likkle case
Nah talk 'bout murder case

Him mother hold her breast and go dung 'pon her knee
Bawl to the sky say, "Lord, tek him please"
Find microwave dead inna cane piece
Diss the wrong man and end up haffi pay fi it

*Popcaan's mother crying*
They can't run!
A so we deal with trouble maker, you seet
They can't run!
Likkle public mischief, you know
Gun shot a beat

They can't run!
Pussy me gi' you permission fi use New Level Unlocked?
They can't run!
Pussy, you're dead
Vendetta say Queng and Heng
Fail
Weh dem a talk 'bout?
You a bait!
Leggo me style, man!