Mozambique (feat. Jaykae & Moonchild Sanelly)

Past

Present

Future

Senior

Baby

Junior

You take the fire of the young

The power of now

The wisdom of old

Combine all three

And that's a recipe for winning

No point looking back

Saying, "I could've done this

Should've done that"

That's valuable time being wasted in the present

And it's only in the present where the future can be moulded

The re-occurring question is "What would I have told myself ten years ago?"

Focus

You know the O was replaced by an S

There ain't a broken home I don't represent

Still misunderstood

Still conflicted

How many times have I looked at the man in the mirror

And had to convince him, "Be brave, be different, just be you

And be consistent"

Umnqundu wamapolisa sana

Ndithe umnqundu wamapolisa

(Are you ready?)

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 got somethin' to say

Do not hold in, please

They say death comes in trois

So I do not roll in threes

Are you lot dying to piss?

Cah you look like your holding P's

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

Man's 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

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 real mean dough

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 real mean 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 Mégane

Whole lotta smoke for your gang

Folding notes in my hand

Yeah, I told him phone me up when it lands

Yeah ,this beef's Kobe, cut from Japan

Whole uppercuts from my hand

You can put me in the World Cup final

And I'll throw headbutts like Zidane

No ifs, buts, 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 had 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 real mean dough

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 real mean dough

Yo, I'm in Birmingham

Mina, I'm from South Africa

Hey, Mandela

Lomfana fun'ivisa ungqhelikaka

And'na xesha lama simba wodwa

Ndizomshiya

Ndizomshiy' ephansi

Kakade naleya ncanca iyasindwa yodwa

IBalls, zinzima

Stared in the face of death

Man dem told me I'm stupid

So many years of breath

I've only been shot by Cupid

Can't tell man about kuff cuff kweff

You only hear them tings in music

'Round here, take a wrong left

Victim of a shooting

What can they tell me about chef?

Like I ain't made food out of human

Like man ain't looked in my grill

And I ain't had to barbeque them

What can they tell me about crack?

Ask Danny and Susan

What can they tell man about trap

Like I weren't trapped in this foolish illusion

Feds never had no evi'

My man still got twenty

They never found no body

They don't know where it's buried

Bad boys from the UK

We don't drive no Chevys

Can't call a foreign a foreign

Unless it's a 'Rari like Balotelli's