(intro)
Yo! This is Muthoni The Drummer
Queen,
See, I don’t usually do this but…
As far as I can see,
I need to enforce some things by
royal decree,
Shut down your yackity mackity
smack,
Listen up son. . . this one is
for you,
(verse 1)
First things first,
Call up the mortuary,
Tell ‘em on this track, murder of
the century,
And for my kindness I’ll pay for
the obituary,
Sorry for the mess, I do this too
habitually,
Second up, I propose a toast,
Raise your glass high from
Nairobi to Coast,
See I don’t need to brag and I
don’t wanna boast,
But I will cut you down, for
acting like a toast,
Ati eh umeingia club na kadem
kabarbie,
Kamestand kasafi,
Kanaitwa Fulani,
Na ni nusu mlami,
Na nywele mabegani unadhani eti
kwamba nita jali,
Jamani
I didn’t know eti uko funny,
For wasting your time baby. . .
Pole samahani,
I thought I told ya,
I’ll never be your honey,
It’s irrelevant to me about,
Your car, your crib, your money,
This is not me playing hard to
get
This is me saying that I’m hard
to get,
It’s in my blood running through
my veins royal,
Media, tell them how I do super
loyal,
And to be clear, I don’t deal
with potential,
Wanna step to me?
Better have credeeeentials. . .
Like ‘so special so special so
special’,
(chorus)
Heeeey yoooo,
Where you at, where my party
people at
Heeeey yoooo,
Raise your cup high toast to the
good life,
Heeeey yoooo,
Itakuwaje, boss itakuwaje,
Heeeeey yoooo,
Now we feelin’ it really really
feelin’ it,
Her highness, miss flyness,
Lyrically is a weapon of mass
violence,
Operating with a Double O 7 license,
Relegating all your chitter
chatter jabber nonsense,
Now let’s be clear, on who they
really fear,
Who rocks the party hard from the
front to the rear,
It’s the drummer mama,
On the club banger,
Hang you out to dry like clothes
on a hanger,
Ati eh umeingia kwenye booth,
Na ka-gold kwenye tooth,
Na tu-dem a kina Ruth,
Ati ndio waki-sooth,
Mpaka umezima lights,
Ati ndio mood i–right,
Ka Malawi ati ndio uwe flight,
Jamani,
No wonder all your songs sound
weak,
You wouldn’t sound better if we
all gave a week...to you,
Truth said I got better things to
do,
Step aside son real army coming
through,
To all my singers, in the ‘bafu
choir’,
All my people strumming on the
air guitar wire,
Chair table dashboard, drummer’s
on fire,
Making trumpet harmonies on your
head wryer
(bridge)
it’s a felony, how we make this
sweet sweet. . .
melodies
bring the beat back
yeeeeaaaahhhh!
(chorus) X2
