Weh y'ah go wid di champion sound?
You cannot cross the border cah we alkaline body
You weh come, we kill you already
And you and yuh followers dem
Is no form of threat to we
Cah 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, doh?
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 can't test the champion sound, you gettin' 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're 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, tryna cop a plea
Lead to him head from Gunn Clappa Numba Three, see
Lick off a shot, you no dick-rider
Lick off shot, punnany, not pon fire
Now everybody wan be Don Gorgon
All around New York, niggas be talkin', but we be stalkin'
In the docks when the gun starts barkin'
But in the day, be wary of where you be walkin'

Don't, don't, don't
You ever mention 'bout you wan' test the champion sound
Leave it to di people dem
Cah you know that when time di people dem come
Ah we dem ah ball for
Leave

Me nah sex, me rough like the wicked youth in me
The motherfucker that be buggin' over truth, you see
Original, criminal run the town, crime pays
That's what I practice, so act
If you wan' get blasted by my nine shot
Come around my block pon the night spot in the Pine box
Murderer, batty bwoy killa
Colin Powell filla, we 'bout to get illa

Sound bwoy, you got nuff reason to worry
Coming wit' my troops, we about to bury
Betta pack ya dubs and move in a hurry, ease off, zeen?

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, a.K.a. The enemy killa
My man wit the weed, is my man in deed
And all you sucky-ducky niggas catch knots wit' speed

Talkin' 'bout you have sound
Ah my sound you wan' test?
You neva know that when it comes to championship
Is we that have di management and correspond wid good yute
To sing for good crew
Leave

Lawd, some bwoy gwan get dead tonight, duke
As I retrieve the .25 from my Timboots
Target pon sight, trigga pon cock
Adjust your pupils to see a dead bwoy walk
Nuff pussyhole gwan die dis year
Here comes the boot camp, slide it to the rear
Strain coming like a hurricane lickin' shots
More untouchable than niggas wit' the 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 OG's see gun clapper number one
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 di livestock cah you a deadstock from mornin' to de
And now is evening, time fi tings change (you must be a fool)

(Oh, Jesus, you already dead, bwoy)

Copyright: MJJN LLC, Royalty Network
Writer(s): Darryl Yates, Ewart Dewgarde, Jack Mcnair, Tekomin Williams, W Henry, Walter Dewgarde