Rasta Ozzy from up de hill Decide fi check pon im grocery bill An when him add up de tings him need, De dunny done wha him save fi buy likkle weed. Him han pon him jaw, lord. Red him eye an just meditate. The time is so hard, lord, I man now tink bout emigrate! I mek up me mind, lord, I might as well go gainst I man faith. So a forward a market, I sight the butcher bwoy by de gate... [Chorus] ( You wan goat? ) No I might-a kill I queen. ( Try de beef nuh? ) I no check fi no grass weh green. ( Wha bout fowl? ) Whatcha know? Is time fi a change. ( Mere fish ? ) Got children out a dat range. ( How bout de steak? ) Whatcha know? Me no sight me rate. ( Try tripe? ) Bun me belly when I pull me pipe. ( What about de pork then? ) Hush your mouth man, me brethren hear! Sell I a pound of dat ting there! So when the butcher pull up a stool, Begin fi question Ozzy how him so fool. What kind a sumpin cook in a pot? From him born, him never did hear bout dat. Well whatcha know master, give I time meka try explain... Its just like a flim show: Fi protect the humble we change the name! I would have feel so cute Fi come in and ask we some Arnold fat. I and I feel safer if we change the subject and call it Dat. [Chorus] Ozzy pay off de butcher bill, Tek de parcel and trod up the hill. Like a spite, who do you tink him meet? Rasta Jeremiah from down the street! Guidance me brethren... Is wha you have in a dat dere bag? Him kinda get frighten and begin fi hide it beneat him rag. That man no fear I, lord, Mek we go up me yard and take a sat? Meanwhile, light a fire: I will help you eat off de pound a dat! [Chorus]
Posted on: Mon, 22 Sep 2014 03:17:39 +0000
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