Sound Bwoy Bureill

[Intro: Sample from Clement Irie “Sound Boy Get Kuff (AKA Ku You Sound Boy)”]
“We are the winning champion sound. You cannot cross the border ‘cause we alkaline body. You will come, we’ll kill you already and you and your fronting ass. There is no form of threat to we come. When it come to lyrics, we have it, so come!”

[Verse 1: Top Dog]
Boom bye bye in a batty bwoy head
The shottie fly, now the batty guy lie dead
Two shots dead to him chin. Enemy or friend
Fake the funk, I put the junk to an end
Now who the rude bwoy wan’ come test Dog?
I find his family to I.D. him in the morgue
I bet you never thought I bust lead—surprise!
I’m a fortified blunt head just like me dread

[Verse 2: Tek]
You try test
The champion sound, you getting bucked down
Recognize the Boot Camp Clik out of Bucktown
Gun-thirsty little bastard, always blasted
From the sacks of chocolate off Mother Gaston
You say you number one wicked selector
I say you punnany and I’ll wet ya
Keep the bull ‘fore I pull this here trigger
‘Cause you don’t wanna test me when I’m tipsy off the liquor like the punk
They called McGirt. Got his feelings hurt
Showed his true colors, had to yank up his skirt. Now he’s
In misery, trying to cop a plea
Lead to him head from Gunn Clappa Numba Three, see
Lick off a shot, you no dick-rider
Lick a shot, punnany, not gunfire

[Verse 3: Steele]
Now
Everybody wanna be Don Gorgon. All around
New York, niggas be talking, but we be stalking
In the dark’s when the gun starts barking
But in the day, be wary of where you be walking

[Interlude 1: Sample from Gregory Isaacs - “Ruler For the Dance”]
“Don’t! Don’t! Don’t you ever mention ‘bout you wan’ test the champion sound! Leave it to the people rough kind! You know that we’re kind to people. Them come-a, we never fall far. Leave!”

[Verse 4: Steele]
Me nah
Sex, me rough like the wicked youth in me
That motherfucker that be bugging off of truth he see
Original criminal running town
Crime pays—that’s what I practice, so act if
You wan’ get blasted by my nine shot
Come around my block, find a nice spot in a pine box
Murderer, batty bwoy killer
Colin Powell feeler, we ‘bout to get iller

[Verse 5: Tek]
Sound bwoy, you got ‘nough reason to worry
Coming with my troops, we about to bury
Better pack your dubs and move in a hurry
Ease off, seen?
Looking at my pager, it’s about that time
To load up the nine and do my daily crime
Warriors, conquerors, the man before ya
Mr. Rippa AKA the enemy killer
My man with the weed is my man indeed, and all you
Sucky-ducky niggas catch knots with speed

[Interlude 2: Sample from Gregory Peck - “False Sound”]
“Talking ‘bout you have sound?!? And my sound you wan’ test?!? You’ll never know that, when it come to championship, it’s we that of the management that current spasmic on you, the fake-funking crew! Leave!”

[Verse 6: Tek]
Lord, some bwoy gwan get dead tonight, duke
As I retrieve the two-five from my Timb boots
Target ‘pon sight, trigger ‘pon cock
Adjust your pupils to see a dead bwoy walk
‘Nough pussyhole gwan die this year
Here comes the Boot Camp sliding to the rear

[Verse 7: Starang Wondah]
Starang coming like a hurricane licking shots
More untouchable than niggas with the chickenpox
So emcees get lifted when I’m spliffted
Nigga, guard your grill ‘cause Louieville packs the biscuit
In the session, Smif-N-Wessun, O.G.C
Gunn Clappa Numba One with my nigga D-O-G

[Verse 8: Steele]
We bring
The realness. Feel this boom as Black Moon
Reveal this. We come to let you know what the deal is
Straight up, we serve justice, so if
You can’t be trusted, may you return where the dust is

[Outro: Sample from King Everald - “Send Fi the King”]
“There is many sound that’s going around and going around, going like a clown, but I’m telling you. Clean up your walk and come to the lights. Sucker, you are dead, stuck from morning and always evening ‘til everything’s dead”