Ghetts – Mozambique

Mozambique Lyrics

Album Only Interlude — Not Featured on Original Single Version
Past, Present, Future
Senior, Baby, Junior
You take the fire of the young, the power of now, the wisdom of the 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 reoccurring 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

Intro: Moonchild Sanelly
Umnqundu wamapolisa sana
Ndithe umnqundu wamapolisa

Verse 1: Ghetts
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 suttin 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?
‘Cause you look like you’re holding Ps
Pull up pull up, stolen jeep
Hood up hood up, phone the police
Push up your boat 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 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, weep
All that week
Oh, that’s weak
Hole in your brain
You ain’t gotta thought that deep
Man think I’m missing the drop
What? I caught that clean
Chorus: Moonchild Sanelly
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

Verse 2: Jaykae
What’s wrong with these man?
Can’t tell me about 28 gram
Grew up on curry and rice, not ham
Man have got shooters from Pakistan
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 the plan
Roll up, stolen Megane
Whole lot of 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
Hold uppercuts from my hand
You can put me in the World Cup final
And I’ll throw headbutts like Zidane
No if’s, 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
Chorus: Moonchild Sanelly
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

Verse 3: Moonchild Sanelly
Yo, I’m in Birmingham
Mina I’m from South Africa, hheey Mandela
Lomfana fun’ivisa ungqhelikaka
And’na xesha lama simba wodwa
Ndizomshiya
Ndizomshiy’ ephansi
Kakade naleya ncanca iyasindwa yodwa
IBalls, zinzima
Verse 4: Ghetts
Stared in the face of death
Mandem told me I’m stupid
So many years of breath
Only been shot by Cupid
Can’t tell man about kuff kaff kweff
You only hear them tings in music
Round ‘ere, take a wrong left
Victim of a shooting
What could 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 me 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 Ballotelli’s

Ghetts

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