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Jack Parow - Byellville lyrics

Jack parrow back for another fokken piss take
Keep your eyes open of jy mag my fokken mis kyk
Take your baby for a chips en fokken vis date
Blow up the door like im made for bledy buskruit

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

Im here to rap, not to make fokkin movies
Im 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 coattails

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

2x
Uh, die fokkin byelville shit
Uh, laat jou bouder skud
Uh, jy fokkin hou van dit
Uh, fokkin holy shit

Jou 'kay you moerfokker
Round 2, FIGHT
Ek's wound too tight
Im 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? gay

Om long vir long en lom dom poms
[Lyrics from: https:/lyrics.az/jack-parow/jack-parow/byellville.html]
Pom om en om met vok om soms
Fok wies 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 jot ek 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 bouder skut
Uh, jy fokkin hou van dit
Uh, fokkin holy shit

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, fokkof jy's kak drek

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 our schnitzels

What's that called, i think cordon bleu
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 im byelville bru, CY till i die
So come down to byelville en fokkin C Y

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

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