Negoro - I.F.K.

Tropical night on tha Congo’s shore Jungles 're sleepin putten forward thorns

Wild africa smells of venture tang Noiseless sneak Negoro’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 Negoro

Negoro’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, haven’t 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