[Intro: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC, low over the dark bass riddim] Midnight in the lane and the gate swing slow Bigga send a duppy 'cause him lose the show [Verse 1: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC, toasting tight on the rimshot] Two sound inna the clash on a Saturday dance Bigga play him best tune and him never get a chance Mi lick him with a special and the whole lawn bawl Him pack up him box with him back to the wall Next night mi hear scratching pon the zinc of mi fence And a cold come inna the room that nah make no sense Mi know the smell of grave dirt, mi know the click of the bone Him pay a man in Spanish Town fi send a duppy to mi home So mi reach under the bed for the crocus bag of rice Granny tell mi one time, mi nah need it twice [Hook: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC] Throw the rice by the gate and the duppy get down Him haffi count every grain that mi scatter around Bigga, count till the cock crow, count till you sore Count every grain, 'cause you don't count no more [Verse 2: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC, the dub delays trail every bar] One, two, three, see the duppy pon him knee Four, five, six, him a pick them out the grit A duppy cyaan skip and a duppy cyaan guess Him haffi count the whole of it, nothing more or less Mi sit pon the step with a cup of mint tea While the duppy him send a do overtime fi me Then the phone start ringing and is Bigga on the line Seh "Weh mi duppy? Him suppose fi reach back by nine" Mi seh "Him busy, bredda, him have a job fi do Him reach ten thousand and him nowhere near through" [Hook: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC] Throw the rice by the gate and the duppy get down Him haffi count every grain that mi scatter around Bigga, count till the cock crow, count till you sore Count every grain, 'cause you don't count no more [Bridge: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC, grain count, the riddim falls back to a lone rimshot ticking once per grain] One grain, two grain, three grain, four Five grain, six grain, scatter some more Seven grain, eight grain, nine and then ten Lose your place, duppy? Start from the top again [Verse 3: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC, full riddim back, toasting harder] Sunday morning come and the duppy gone home Him never touch a hair and him never shake a bone Him go back to Bigga with a cramp inna him hand Seh "Bredda, never send me pon a job inna that land" Now the whole of Kingston know the story of the dance How a sack from Granny never give the man a chance Next clash him come with a sound from abroad Mi just shake a bag of rice and the whole lawn roar Bigga, count your losses, every grain on the floor [Final Hook: Jamaican dancehall deejay male MC] Throw the rice by the gate and the duppy get down Him haffi count every grain that mi scatter around Bigga, count till the cock crow, count till you sore Count every grain, 'cause you don't count no more [End]
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