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Stogie T Sway In The Morning Freestyle Lyrics

Stogie T, one of the best to ever do it, went on Sway In The Morning for an interview of his part in building South African Hip-Hop, the political landscape, apartheid, exile and the game as he sees it. One of the more fearlessly opinionated artists; He didn’t mince his words on what he thinks of the game, the new school and clarifying his perceived, real or not, beef with Cassper Nyovest. You’d think that would be the highlight of the interview but Stogie T delivered one of the best verses yet on Sway’s traditional ‘freestyle’ feature. Preceded by Cassper, AKA, Kwesta and Nasty C, it wouldn’t have taken much for Stogie to match his fellow countrymen, but what he did, was go beyond South African standards to deliver a world class verse to show why he’ll go down as one of the greats.

After a few days, thanks to writer Sabelo Mkhabela, we finally have the lyrics to this outstanding piece of work;

There ain’t no French bottle we ain’t pop
A fresh article we ain’t cop
Benz top that we ain’t dropped
And dress model we ain’t knock
Festival we ain’t rocked
Destined to be this hot
To the best of my knowledge, rest of the mavericks, that’s saying a lot
But if you taking stock, and you don’t save a spot for the forsaken lot
From the bacon hut, land of the slaver’s dock
That shit prerogative, we polar opposites
I’m from the continent of poverty and long walk accomplishments
Where former heroes give birth to spoiled rotten kids
The opulent meet the poor cleaning their offices
We push rocket ships like Elon Musk, charge the whip
But still stuck in shit, cuz we don’t got a pot to piss in
Say God forgives as if you gives the church half your shit
I’m bugging, still we can’t tell a pastor from a pimp
It’s Roman Catholic, it’s Anglican, it’s African tribesmen
Migrant, shit, it’s masked men kidnapping kids
I say South Africa, you think Trevor
I think Nelson, it’s half a parent, you getting mixed messages
I say Nigeria, you think Fela
I think Delta, it’s past and present, blurry as an impressionist
Sway, I put your certified hyenas in elephant graves
I’m punching way above the ceiling you said is the grade
This is the red letter day, show’ em how a vet is made
Last time somebody spit this fire, David Blaine
These ready-made superstars, with tattoos and scars
And you think they can save face with a few bars
They lukewarm, I’m in true form
38 like Jordan in Utah, killing them with the flu shot
Strus God, that means trust me, I’m nutty as RuPaul
But I wear out a pussy like King Jaffe in New York
What could you do bro?
When I promise you all the smoke
I am so Calvin Broadus as Snoop Dogg
This is the diary of a mad man
Who should’ve been stamped champ but I wrote (rode) above their heads like Anne Frank
Fam, I’m a giant amongst ants, like the tyrant from Baghdad
Who sayin’ (Hussein) I can’t hang on camera?
Grew up on Hammers, M16 Hammers
No dances, miss me with MC Hammer
I’m a Kool G Rap alumni, these my handlers
The kufi Nas from NY, Jesus medallion
Reading Langston Hughes, el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz and them, shit
In the pocket like the Audubon assassin
They gon’ photograph a African prototype of a starving kid
But not show you the royal blue Aston Martin whip
It’s complicated, and fuck vibranium, Educate ‘em
We got ghettos too, and they orange-juice concentrated
But Bo Brady said be measured in your actions
Give them honey and pain, happiness and the anguish
Like when Tony got the flooded Roley and we called it hope
For all the times the po-po had my folks against the ropes
For all the times we drove a shawty out to Marie Stopes
And all the ones we almost broke, but still be calling hoes
They fall for men who end up teachin’ em the rope or dope
These are the broken homes we from
It ain’t sweet like it’s marijuana leaves highs
Like Maradona sniff white
Strangled by a short leash, my mama hold the fist tight
Tell a bigot, he can suck and lick a piss pipe
Cuz we gon get the level up and win in this life
I’m from the real south, not the fried catfish, Killer Mike…
I mean a township, real south
Where blacks go through hardships like a round cheap flight
It’s bad shit backwards for the wrong skin type
And I’m disliked, but I don’t give too many fucks
When they set the bar, I look back and tell’ em where it was
This shit ain’t for everyone, second cousin and aunt
Taking a dump on the culture for a radio chart
But I ain’t mad at you might even dance to it
And half the world can watch me, Thanos, snap to it.

Rest in Peace ProKid
R.I.P HHP.
R.I.P Zwelethu Badela
R.I.P Ben Sharpa
Stogie fucken T

Brilliant.

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