The joy, them no want see
Surround you, show them nobody
Rasta man a teach the youth
Fi blow trumpet, fi blow flute
Babylon a bubble, them wickedness a boil
But rasta man a gather one, tent a disfoil
The road dem aisle, me still a fall, me smile
Thus I run and turn, till the soil
Fiatical choice and chase the coil
To be like the prince of peace for a while
The joy, the joy