Who's a Gangster

**[Intro: spoken, low, Dj vinyl scratch , slow bass drop]**
This one's for the kids in the gully bumping on thier mummy . Sit the fuck down and listen boy.
**[Semi automatic gun shots sound effect]**

**[Verse 1: hard, tight, fast flow]**
Howzit, bru, you talk like you're the 'Don' ,
But Mommy's in the car park at the station with your jacket on.
Report card bleeding red, you couldn't pass if you tried,
Claim you're running the city? Nigga, that's a lie.
One night in a holding cell, home before the sun,
Daddy paid the bail, now you're acting like you how to Ball.
Granny stood in the courtroom with her hands on her knees,
Praying for her grandson, begging, "Judge, please."
Soldier? Nah, my boy, you're a toddler in a uniform,
Brave on the tiktok , but you hide from the storm.
Selling poison to little kids by the school gate,
Think that makes you powerful? Boy, that's cheap bait.
Preying on the small ones, that's the lowest of the low,
Real ones guard children, bru, you're a coward , now you know.
I came up through the struggle, built it brick by brick,
Respect wasn't shouted, it was earned, slow and thick.
You wear it like a costume, we wore it like a vow,
Take a seat, small boy , your in our class now.
**[Gun shot]**

**[Hook: anthemic, chant-style, heavy bass]**
Real Gangsters don't shout, real G,s don't run,
Real soldiers don't cry for Mommy when the night's begun.
You got fake stripes, but you ain't got the spine,
You only got mouth, bru, we are the fucking line.
Real bosses don't shout, real men don't play,
Silence is our weapon and our code is the way.

**[Verse 2: slower, menacing, storytelling]**
Up before the sunrise, suit pressed, shoes clean,
Never flashed our cash, bru, kept the stack unseen.
We spoke with our eyes and we moved with our hands,
Honour was our contract, a handshake was the plan.
Loyalty's our language, you can't even spell,
Squeal to the sergeant, you still hear your school bell.
We Feed our kitchens, pay the school fees,
You steal from Mama's purse for a vape and some weed.
Nobody called us boss, we never begged for fame,
You post it on TikTok, actin like your part of the game.
Old men in the corner sipping whisky , talking low,
One look from them, bru, and the whole block would know.
Now the kids on the corner your voices too loud,
Disrespecting everyone , trying hard to look proud,
But the aunties on the block , they can see through your act,
'Cause our generation made you bru, and that's a fucking fact.

**[Hook: repeat]**
Real niggas don't shout, real bosses don't run,
We don't cry for Mommy when the night's begun.
You got fake stripes, but you ain't got the spine,
You got a big mouth, bru, we know how to grind.
Real men don't shout, we don't play,
Silence is our weapon and our code is the way.

**[Bridge: powerful rap, soulful 90s, flawless flow]**
Mama cried at the gate while you laughed in the cop car,
Made her sold her Gold , now you think you're a star.
That's not a king, bru, that's a small cake who thinks his a crook,
Wake the 'fuck' up, my boy.
There's a man you can still be, and it starts with the book,
Respect is a mirror, bru, take a long fucking look.

**[Verse 3: fastest, 90 hip hop-style multisyllabic, building to the climax]**
Listen, boy, let me break it down slow,
Hustle's not a hashtag, loyalty's not a show,
It's the weight on your shoulders, it's the oath that you keep,
Not a flex for the likes while your mother can't sleep.
A true boss is calm, bru, his word is his bond,
You're a flash in the pan, and the pan's already gone.
Failed your maths, failed English, fucked up every test,
Now you're out here playing gangsta , bru, put it to rest.
Get a trade, get a plan, get a purpose,
Stop the show on the surface, 'cause you're looking nervous.
Be the man in your house, be the one who gets paid
By his hands and his brain, not the tears Mama's made.
You wanna be a legend? Then start with a tool ,
'Cause the hardest thing, bru, is to keep your cool.
I'm the voice of the old guard, the last of the line,
A product of the 90s mah G Telling you the truth one Last time:
Put the toy guns down, young blood, take the long way home,
The game's not for you, bru, leave it alone.

**[ slower, heavy bass, vinyl fading]**

**[Outro: spoken, slow, low gravelly voice, single bass hit, hi-hats fade]**
Telling the truth you're too afraid to hear...
**This is Maharaj Mafia, motherfuckers.** [Said once only]

**[End: Dj vinyl scratch , fade out]**

90s East Coast boom hip hop, 90s Gangster rapstyle production, deep chest-rattling rnb sub bass, crisp snappy hi-hats, icy bell and string stabs, dusty vinyl snare, gritty street storytelling, aggressive confident male rapper, Durban coloured accent, South African slang, 90s Hip hop tight multisyllabic rhymes, 92 BPM, cinematic dark mood, 4:30 length.