Sound Bwoy Bureill Lyrics - Singles - Smif-n-wessun

Boom, bye, bye in a botty bwoy head 

The shottie fly now, the botty ly like dead 

2 shots dead to him chin, enemy a friend 

Fake the funk, I put the junk to an end 

Now who da rude bwoy, wan come tess dogg 

I find his family and ID 'em in da morgue 

I bet you never thought I bust led 

To prize, I'm a fortified blunt head just like a dread 

You can't tess the champion sound, you gettin' bucked down 

Recognize the boot camp click in a de Bucktown 

Gun thirsty little bastard, always blasted 

From the sess of chocolate, from my dick gastin' 

You say you number one wicked selecta 

I say you punani and I wetcha 

Keep the bull before I pull this here trigga 

'Cause you don't wanna tess me, when I'm tipsy off the liquor 

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Like a punk they call McGirt, got his feelings hurt 

Showed his true colors, had to yank up his skirt 

Now he's in misery, tryin' to cop a plea 

Led to his head from gun clapper number 3 

See, lick off a shot you no dick rida 

Lick a shot punani, not gun fire 

Now everybody wanna be dongongon 

All around New York niggas be talkin' but we be stalkin' 

In the docks when the gun starts buckin' 

But in the day, be wary of where you be walkin' 

Don't, don't, don't 

You ever mention 'bout you wan tess the champion sound 

Leave it to de people that can you know that can 

When people see them a ball fa, leave 

Me naw sex, me ruff like the wicked you fe me 

The motherfucker that be buggin' over truth you see 

Original criminal run in town, crime pays 

That's when I practiced your act, if you wan get blasted 

Photos 

By my nine shot, come around my block 

Pon the night spot 

In the Pine box, Murderah, Botty bwoy killa 

Golden power filla, we 'bout to get illa/ 

Sound bwoy, ya got nuff reason to worry 

Cummin' wit my troops, we about to bury 

Betta pack ya dubs and move in a hurry 

Ease off sean 

Lookin' at my pager, it's about that time 

To load up the 9 and do my derelict crime 

Warriors, conquerors, the man before ya 

Mr. Ripper, AKA, the enemy killa 

My man wit the weed, is my man in deed 

And all you sucky-ducky niggas catch nots wit speed 

Talkin' 'bout you have sound, ah, my sound you wan tess 

You neva know that when it comes to championship 

Is we dat have de management 

And carry mack, use you for good use 'cuz wee de good crew, leave 

Laud, some bwoy wan get dead tonite, duke 

As I retrieve the 2-5 from my timboots 

Target pon sight, trick up and cock 

Adjust your pupils to see a dead bwoy walk 

Nuff pussyhole gwan die dis year 

Here comes the bootcamp, slide it to the rear 

It's the rain cummin' like a hurricane lickin' shots 

More untouchable than niggas wit de chicken pox 

So emcees get lifted when I'm spliffted 

Nigga guard ya grill 'cause Louisville packs the biscuit 

In the session, Smif-N-Wessun, O-G's see gun clapper number 1 

Wit my nigga D O G 

We bring the realness, feel this boom, it's 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 

There is many sound that's goin' around and goin' on 

And gwan like a clown but I'm tellin' you, clean up your act 

And come to de livestock 'cuz you a deadstock 

From mornin' to de evenin', now everything changed