CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : Sound Bwoy Bureill (Vocal Clean Mix)
Smif-N-Wessun ft. Top Dog and Starang Wondah - “Sound Bwoy Bureill”
“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!”
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
You try test
The champion sound, you getting bucked down
Recognize the Boot Camp Clik out of Bucktown
Gun-thirsty little b*st*rd, 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 d**k-rider
Lick a shot, punnany, not gunfire
“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!”
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
You try test
The champion sound, you getting bucked down
Recognize the Boot Camp Clik out of Bucktown
Gun-thirsty little b*st*rd, 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 d**k-rider
Lick a shot, punnany, not gunfire
