Pocket full a promises 
Baby empty bellies 
Poverty and Democracies 
And political rallies 
But who the rich a lobby for
Using me for votes
Pretend a mi yuh sorry for 
Then win and its a joke 
I'm sick of trick or treaters in costumes like dem as leaders 
Charismatic public speakers 
False prophets and fake healers.
Articulate perfect grammar scammer 
Scamming us for votes 
Infront of tv camera with an innocent approach. 
Nuh mo lies and fallacies 
Bun apologies 
Try nuh ask please when a squeeze and yuh pan yuh knees 
Justice or else says the minister Farakhan
Suh me stand up a Gordon house 
Wid my Glock Inna me hand
If I take it literally, fuck it geez I'm kinda sorry
But smaddy need Fi answer 
Gimmi Di microphone and Mek mi rep di innocent paying recompense for money spent to feed the governments 
Yo! Gimmi Di microphone get the people riled up too much fuckery Piled up get di ting dem oiled up 
Parallel universes in the same Ol' hemisphere 
Authorities they don't care with dem nose up in the air

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric 
We talk Di truth and mek Di youths dem better for it
Cause I'm a fighter, yeah 
If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

Mek the stench from ghetto fences permeate dem residences extend up through the trenches up to where the presidents is 
Karma pan Di ones and twos yes it turn the tables 
had enough a you with your parable and fables
Jamaican bad gal queen and revolutionary
Neva quick Fi start a war but shoot whenever necessary 
Product of the inner city 
Where me come from it nuh pretty 
Survive the nitty gritty 
Ain't nobody taking pity 
Survival kinda sticky
In New York Cali and philly 
A di same ting a gwaan in a Kingston

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric 
We talk Di truth and mek Di youths dem better for it
Cause I'm a fighter, yeah 
If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

These are the da days of the last days, pan the last page of Di book of the dark age 
We a path ways wid oppressors
Seek Predecessors 
Wake up ancestors 
Den we team up together
We will meet we will meet pan Di battle Di battle ground 
Trade mi microphone 
For a shottie and some copper stones
Just be ready When Di gavel sound 
Bun a folly ground fus 
Jah surround us 
So We never nervous 
Was a mental war now this shit turn physical 
From long time scar we a reap the residual 
From slavery to now, now the ting get critical 
Dem CyAh kill we soul cause dem sight sey we spiritual 
So They be like, hey,
prod the bull under Sykes as subliminal, get them mad 
Then chastise dem as criminal 
Give wi drugs under guise sey it clinical