RUSTY

 

It’s a kind a strange thing

Look back then at the beggenning

Find ourself in the big bang

Crossing the space with the bling band

It’s about roots in the real time

It’s about Broots in the right time

Moderated, squally folly, skizzy

Shaking, freaking, linking, breaking

 

Yesterday I saw the Broots on TV, singing their new song rusty

Since then, I swear men, life on earth became kind of easy

Suddenly ma body felt electricity, and my sofa caught fire

Yes my lord they got the rhythm, true love and the sense of humor

 

Oh brother, oh sista

look about yourself

Oh blabla, oh bowm bowm

keep the mind operate

Oh brother, oh sista

it’s a long faze

Oh blabla, oh bowm bowm

Up your raise

 

Rusty in my brain

We gave the one shot

Rusty in my name

Rasta you can’t stop

 

I do think they are cool, the way they move is cool

Their simple lyrics talk about me, which above all is cool

You cannot see that they’re angry

that they know who’s the real enemy

I you ask guess the answer: “the screen through which you’re looking at me”

Beggars usually leave me quite

When they see the way I am dressed

In the bars ladies don’t look impressed until I move my body on the hi-hat

We don’t need to be on a dancefloor

to make the shirt get wet

In my kitchen I had the best, Saturday night fever ever

 

It’s kind tricky on the back-line

Sexy on the front line

Just a common way to say

Freeman gotta be ready to be wild in one way

We had to stand lots of roads

To understand your lots of words

Ain’t gonna be mild, got a free mind

Stand against the lust

 

Many things I say come back as trap to me

The day I think” with meat I’m done”, my flat mate makes

For the first time his mum’s secret chili

We try to never claim that we are clever

We know we would be tested the sooner or the later

 

I blue my rest

So  I reach my goal

I did my best

So I keep my soul

 

THE GLINGODS

 

Here come the chang bang

No, nothing about the big hey

But only the big way

Come one man show me what your mind say

It gives plenty basses

So much that they became rude on your faces

It’s about your froots men

Yeah, we gonna play with the rules then

Big guns are freaky men but also make bang bang

You know bang bang

 

 

What makes you look at me ?

L’amour, l’amour

What makes you talk to me ?

L’amour, l’amour

What makes you spend money ?

L’amour, l’amour

What makes you lie to me ?

L’amour, l’amour

 

 

The Gling-Gods are coming from the start

No bling dools, but still they will go techno

They bring a lot, make it shift

strange reggae with a dirty beat

Before them hip hop music was shit

Easy bro’ nobody can blame the trip of my ego

Just telling to the crowd we are pround to be cool

That dancefloor go Broots give us more fantasy

You’re number one of my mp3

Clap the clip make it slip

Crack your trick on the dancefloor beat

Back to meet the black train feet

Pick the trip it’s a classical trip

Skip the brain and pick up a step

Track the moon see it’s a sticky groove

It’s freaky groove but a funny moon

 

All became so professional

Not just here it’s international

Sound can be supernatural

Showbiz still commercial

We are look for attention

It’s essential and central

But without some precaution it turns

Narcisstical, individual, uncultural

Disrespecting the real question

 

Oh shit, Nady

I’m starting to feel sorry

You speech, really, brings me back to reality

But wasn’t supposed to be a secret

Warriors dressed up like starlet

Clap match kick the crowd

Catching the taste of what the mass likes

Egoes and clichés

Fake libido

Bimbos and beaches

Blinging wegos in shiny Ferraris

Wasting their flows

Insulting mothers and memories

 

ASK TO ME

 

I got the beat

ask to the flip

provide your trick

and break up the brick

hurry by the flow

hurry by the law

to be afraid brother

I need the road

 

wish attraction

in a grubby world of conception

at the end, let in your heart

the better gimmick extend

reggaellogy ina my philosophy

fighting my sould blasted

regain the turn wasted

 

 

Ask to me - position of the word

could be used, could be lost

I will make you see

expose it here back

about the real track

about to find out

ask to me

anything can be said

about the trust that you pay

I will make you see

too much is not begging

I just want you to sing

 

 

Presure on my shoulders

I need a break

wanna to be a warrior

but turns to be a jerk

pressure on my shoulders

I need a text

try to find the right words

cause ou can not be fake

we no play no bad boy

and we no speak no pidjin

we no come from Kingston

and neither from Berlin

we no grow no dreadlocks

but inside we are rasta

me understand that I and I

do not have no colours

but still me wonder why and how

nothing is relaxing

the pressure on my shoulders

when me look for the right thing

 

I really think I’m looking for the way

to become a better writer and not only to say it

I and I are searching

and do not only asking

to be like the dreamer

the walker free from the beginning

 

the sight of a blue quite stroke

in my ideas

hoping fo no reason

me having no any master

 

if I could find a trick

to make the word fit

on each and every beat

you’d be already rich

baby we gonna stop the show

and maybe after

if we sing over minimal techno

we’ll feel better

newspapers covered with our photos

we’ll kee the lips shut

if you dare use the power of the tong bro’

they’ll turn our sound off

 

GET BUSY

 

give me a phone call

you funny girl

I hear the buzz of my cellular looking for connexion

press pause

don’t forget boy

she’s just practises her profession

 

I heard your sight grow

hardly looking for the perfect circle

sure you were so busy today

and now

you’re expecting your swain

 

immediate

contact

the right know

controls your destiny

busy she mint be or in the park

or gone for a nap like anybody

 

well guess what funny boy

your speech now easy twangs

to get so dizzy

everybody became what you clam

living at the phone life with too much pain

 

relax or call back later

leave a Combox or write a messenger

she got a life to take it for yourself

if she gives no answers

 

 

don’t be crazy

all the lines are busy

 

you better think and take it much easier

all the things you should remember

when your mails were made of simple paper

when you don’t make it rings

so you should better find a way to chease this

or don’t ever call me your brother

brother in a love

doesn’t bother with the law

no shame no care for

known Nos

blake mail words of a written wisdom

keen as a sword

sorrow as an outcome

 

brother in the morning

brother in the evening

baby you’re doing wrong

it rings, all right

you chat, all night

you better write, write your words

 

twisted knowledge

selfish porridge

headache

stomach on swinging bridge

fake faze

on a dirty tactic

pretending to protect the future of a chick

 

sweet sugar me

on a late answer

look at, look at me

sweet sugar me

on a late answer

let’s a looka looka looka at me

 

isn’t it bizarre

I left a bisou

on the wall facebook’s twitter

I call on the wizard

in less than an hour

if I stay without a response from you

 

mellow reggae changing your days

bass and peace on a honeymoon trip

going surfing the waves

music is a way to pray

no Atlantic beach

just tropical creaks on a pacific bays

 

 

he got the gain

the purple smoke pain

Jo let the cig nip all his brain

hard time to put that just far away

take care it’s only a stanza

but you’ll find your way


 

again and again

torments in the studio

no pain get no gain

the dancers getting physical

stretched legs violently spread in stereo

hysterical trainer

counting on your abdominos


 

red became white

and black became blue

acting the right to make my reggae boogaloo

we gonna try to do better

than the lost past of Jo

awakening the positive that’s waiting in the soul

 

 

MELLOW REGGAE

 

one, two, three in the row

that’s what happened to Jo

he got fed up of smoking pot

and choose to play it mellow

now hundreds of chariots

standing behind him

huge and high knights

ridding at the light’s speed

amazon, soldiers

cobras and mommies

helmets, bows and

skullets of steal

 

Jo’s trust shines on the iron shirts

and spades of his army

which is ready

ready to charge on the charms of obscurity

destroying the castle and the conditions of envy

ready to charge on the charms of obscurity

destroying the castle and the conditions of envy

 

 

and now

he’s waiting, he’s waiting, he’s waiting for pain

he’s waiting, he’s waiting for sorrow

now, now, now, now, now

yo play it mellow