Lyrics:

Jack parrow back for another fokkin piss take
Keep you eyes open of jy mag my fokkin miss kyk
Take your baby for her chips en fokkin vis date
Blow up the door like i'm made for bledy buskruit

Almal is life, fokkit parrow is just great
Bitches are so slick you could swear its fuckin mince mate
Die fokken woorde van die straathoek rennegade
So high energy i piss fokken energade

I'm hea to rap, not to make fokkin movies
I'm so next level mah fokkin groupies have groupies
So what you gonna do when jou moeder fokkin boat sells
All these rappers hangin on jack parrow's coat holes

Im buying ng with mah piggy bank cents
I moved back to my mom coz i can't pay my rent
Playing real life risk, conquering country for country
One for one until the next one wants me

2x
Uh, die fokkin byelville shit
Uh, laat jou boude skut
Uh, jy fokkin hou van dit
Uh, fokkin holy shit

Jou 'kay you moerfokker
Round 2, FIGHT
Ek's wound too tight
I'm fokkin bound to bite
Shit sounds just right
Spoeg kak-kak tight
So luister mooi en fokkin walk towards the white light

Die rapper uit die bosse lanks die N1 highway
Almal fokkin like my, nou dat ek 'ie mic kry
By the way, there's nowhere to hide away
Ek spoeg fokkin yster, jou kak kan fokkin naai gay

Om long vir long en lom dom poms
Pom om en om met fok om soms
Fok is die jong fokkin nuus vou gom
So pop that fokkin CD in jou CDROM

UH, JOOOUU ek's fokkin fly like batman
Rap so siek, moet ek moet heeltyd gaan vir 'n CAT scan
Quick, vinnig, hardloop to the JackVan
Rap so tight you could swear i was a black man


2x
Uh, die fokkin byelville shit
Uh, laat jou boude skut
Uh, jy fokkin hou van dit
Uh, fokkin holy shit

Ag nee, jissis fok man
Check, i fokkin grew up in 'n kak plek
Raised on pap en WWF
Called kak kommen en kak zef
Kak by jou kak-bos, fokof jy's kak tref

Change in mah pocket, head full a jokes
So sunday took mah girl to the spur vir 'n coke-float
No money for a car, sy moes op my fiets chill
No money for steak or cheese in haar schnitzel

What's that called, i think's called cordon bleh
We roll corduroy pants en gelled up hair
Stone cold shirts and orange bomber jackets
Tape walkmens en Pick 'n Pay Packets

I come from a town where no one's fokkin from
A little bit a and *POEF* then their gone
But i'm byelville bru, CY till i die
So come down to byelville en fokkin C Y

2x
Uh, die fokkin byelville shit
Uh, laat jou boude skut
Uh, jy fokkin hou van dit
Uh, fokkin holy shit