Mozambique

Ghetts, Moonchild Sanelly, Jaykae

Umnqundu wamapolisa sana Ndithe umnqundu wamapolisa (Are you ready?) Make some, make some mean dough Make some real mean dough Make some real mean dough, dough What's wrong with these man? Make some real mean dough Make some real mean dough Make some real mean dough, dough What's wrong with these man? Make some, make some mean 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 gotta somethin' to say Do not hold in please They' say death comes in twa So I do not roll in threes Are you lot dying to piss? 'Cause you look like your holding piece 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 Mans 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 weak 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, make some mean dough Make some real mean dough Make some real mean dough, 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 Mangane 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 leap of cuts on my hand You can put me in the World Cup final And I throw headbutts like Zidane No if's, but's 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 has 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, make some mean dough Make some real mean dough Make some real mean dough

Written by: Janum Khan, Justin Clark Samuel, Prince Owusu, Sanelisiwe Twisha, Shehzad Anil ZarLyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLCLyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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Mozambique

Ghetts, Moonchild Sanelly, Jaykae

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