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I.F.K. - Negoro

Tropical night on tha Congo′s shore Jungles ′re sleepin putten forward thorns
Wild africa smells of venture tang Noiseless sneak
′s gang
Take care and out yo ass, man They′re dealers of da livin wares
Poor blacks are target in da fuckin hunt But natives have da protector — Dick Sand
Oh this guy! He′s brave ′n yaang He′s supaman boy when he′s not too full drunk
He′s 15, but he′s keany gun By da way, Mrs. Waldon — she ′nows his tongue
They sail atlantic witha captain Gull This MF bastardo

′s alive again
It′s not S.america mista Sand This terrible country, slaveholdin land
AFRICA — yo contrast style Can demolish yaang 15-age mind
Yaang cptn. Sand, it′s not N.Y. Yo friends, free blax, here′s smelly joke
It′s not motha brooklyn, not fuckin bronx anotha rules, anotha blocks
Detachment moves to da centre of land Yankees are bozo, yankees are rampin′
With da "Insectkilla" cousin Benedict They′re drinkin rum eight days a week
Negoro spies on band from tricket He wanna fun too, he′s wicked
Negoro′s bad, he wants Mrs. Waldon In jungle babydolls are so rare
Now, how′s Dick? He′s hero again Witha Greatest Mgamga he calls da rain
He treats da bushmen ′n sings them songs ′N tells ′em storys ′bout wars in bronx
Warriors, c′mout to plaaaaaay
Negoro attacks Dicks little band They fight like lions, havent dread
But they are scanty, they loose Negoro take cptn. in fuckin noose
Proud Sand is wild, Negoro has him teased He stuck da ′nife into da portuguese beast
Negoro′s dead, his heart is not knock Check it out, u brotha, really cool shock


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