I saw the demons, them glorified child's want
The other day, them kill a thousand inna my mouth
Tell Betty Phelps to stay a thousand miles from I-1-0
I'm no juvenile alone, all big man a do it
Look how them kill an underdean and make a mother weep
Them take a youth and a dem lance a jib, tie dem hands and feet
Take off the little youth and pants and grip
Well, taste from my eye, straight from my eye
My shoulder no broad enough to embrace