Well mi got few more word fi seh before mi siddung,

But wah really run 'round inna mi head,

So s'pose yuh play di soundclash an' mi play di clown,

An' wi see if wah mi seh get said.

Mi ask miself why mi always ask miself,

Nuff question like wah right or wrong,

An' if gwine be answer, baby, mebbe it deh inna dis ya song.

Well mi s'pose di way mi live would really blow people brain,

But den di way dem live always blow mine,

So mi play rasta to di gangsta pon di corner lane,

An' wi get 'long wid each odda jus' fine.

But sometime when tings nuh go right fi dem an' dem fren',

Like mebbe once a month when full moon shine,

Mi get reservation 'bout miself an' start fi chant a diff'rent rhyme.

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas.

Well if yuh can leave mi lonesome mi can leave yuh alone,

Mi even let yuh laugh when mi skank an' prance,

But if yuh treat mi like dawg an' try fling mi bone,

Den mi bark right t'ru yuh khaki pants.

So gi' up yuh resistance to mi own kind a existence,

An' yuh might even find it ever fun,

Yes mi song got moral as mi poem mi might get sum'ting done.

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas,

Gangstas, gangstas an' rastas.

Dub-Reggae Reimagination of

The Epic Splendor "Cowboys And Indians", (1967)

Lyrics and Arrangements by @AldousLearySound, 2026