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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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My good old prophet Marcus Garvey prophesize, say |
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"St. Jago de la Vega and Kingston is gonna read" |
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And I can see with mine own eyes |
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It's only a housing scheme that divide |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie, it dread |
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When the two sevens clash |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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Look up a cotton tree out by Ferry police station |
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How beautiful it used to be |
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And it has been destroyed by lightning, |
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Earthquake and thunder, I say, what? |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash - it dread |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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I take a ride sometimes |
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On Penn Overland and Bronx |
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And sometimes I ride on bus X-82, say what? |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash |
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Marcus Garvey was inside of Spanish Town district Prison |
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And when they were about to take him out |
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He prophesied and said |
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"As I have passed through this gate" |
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"No other prisoner shall enter and get through" |
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And so it is until now |
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The gate has been locked, so what? |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash, it dread |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash, it bitter, bitter, bitter |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash, a man a go feel it |
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Wat a liiv an bambaie |
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When the two sevens clash, you better do right |
