(Yeah)

Yeah, what?

(Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Mr. Joe Buhdha, Klashnekoff, what?

(Rocky road)

Yeah

(Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Yeah, you dun know

(Dedicated to my two sons, to the mandem)

Yo

Check it

(Yeah, you dun know the saga)

Yo, what, yo, yo

All I got in this world is my word and my herb

Spit verse after verse with bruddas bending like kerbs

Who spend a third of what they earn on some draws, some herbs

Wars fought over turf, lives lost over pieces of dirt

Heed my words, they're like healing herbs

But bitter like cerasee when youths held in custody

TBH, GBH, there's no escape

When you're trapped on an estate with the ghetto mind-state

I traipse the landscape

With a heart full of hate

My fate shape twist and a trailer load of dubplate

Feeling like Bucky Ranks, forced to retaliate

The fake try replicate but die by the stake

Fassio bruddas prepared to die for the papes

All I need is my peeps, my son and my eigths

That's like seven steps away from heaven

Can you "Imagine" like John Lennon

Catching your own fish and growing your own melon as the sun beckons

Me and my son watch the sun setting

Still the feeling in my heart is unsettling

I'm stalked by reality and haunted by depression as these lessons manifest

All I got in this world is my son and my words

Spit verse after verse with bruddas bending like kerbs

Who spend a third of what they earn on some draws, some herbs

Wars fought over turf, lives lost over pieces of dirt

Heed my words, they're like healing herbs

But bitter like cerasee when youths held in custody

TBH, GBH, there's no escape

When you're trapped on an estate with the ghetto mind-state

It's not a joke anymore, told you before

I keep a chete by the door, by law, that's not a metaphor

It's martial law, snake verse eagle claw

Feds burst through your door, you're sworn to keep the locked jaw

Held three to four, now you're jailing on tour

Carving your name insides of cell walls

Cold eats, AWOL, your screw bussin balls

Frustrated bruddas bussin shots for the cause

As the cameras record what occurred on the mission, shottin' Pulp Fiction

Screwfaced fellas is cursed with blurred vision

Through simple words your whole life could be missing

It's action, reaction

Reload the ammo to obtain satisfaction

Surround sounds clash like Sir Coxsone and Saxon

Zs in every section

Everything will be revealed with reflection, in guns some trust

But trust's a blind man's weapon

In times of warfare, I show no discretion, it's depressing

I toke on the resin, blow the smoke into the heavens

Surrounded by the natural essence

Kids with weapons, the parents need protecting

(It's not a joke blud overstand)

Yo, by any means be ever ready to defend

Yo, overstand, blud

Yo, yo, yo

All I got in this world is my son and my words

Spit verse after verse with bruddas bending like kerbs

Who spend a third of what they earn on some draws, some herbs

Wars fought over turf, lives lost over pieces of dirt

Heed my words, they're like healing herbs

But bitter like cerasee when youths held in custody

TBH, GBH, there's no escape

When you're trapped on an estate

With the ghetto mind-state

It's not a joke, mate