Let me tell you a story
It's a story ‘bout a youth named Johnny
King of the ends, with his goons and his coons
Top boy flow, but your man ain't Sully

(Can't be vexed; can't be moved; boy, don't touch me)

Now, listen to me well, let me tell you ‘bout Johnny

Back in the ends, by the end of the road
It was B16; never swerve, never fold
Good boy youth with a bad man pose
It is what it is, can't be scared or cold

Along came Becky from SE6
Fine brown ting with the Nubian kiss
Big batty B, and the front's on lock
Man like Johnny got mesmerized quick

Fine girl, Becky. Calm down, girl, you're not confetti
Punch those digits on my iPhone techie
It's another bird won, that's a fuckboy's medley

(Can't be vexed; can't be moved; boy, don't touch me )

1 year down. What's the motive with you?
I've fallen in love, man, I've eaten the fruit
Becky's the one, no more playing the fool
I asked her the question, and she said, "I do"
We're settling down, getting mortgages set
Jumping the broom, then we're moving in, too
Expecting a baby in a full moon, or two
Big man like Johnny turn big papa, too

Yh

Well, you know what love can do
First, it's all sweet and cool
The 1st year or two, it's all rosy and smooth

She's making him happy, she's making him nice
His African jollof, his Caribbean spice
Becky's his diamond, the love of his life
The butterflies keeping his belly alive

He says "sure", but Johnny's been battling opps
Not in the endz he once had war with man
But there in his yardie where wifey resides
The blows, and the kicks, and the screams, and the taunts
Johnny's ashamed to even speak up at all
For fear of being ridiculed, sullied, and more
It's evident men can't be victims at all

Out the yard-a, on the couch-a, bruise ya collar, don't be daft-a
Call the feds on me, they won't do nada
I call the feds on you, they'll jail you, brada
You try to get sense, I'll divorce you faster
Take all of your bread, and your child, and your Honda
The child support for that KANCHU, Prada
The alimony for that trip to Barca

What's a man to do when there's nothing to gain, but all things to lose, in this world of cruise
Slide his neck through that well-rounded noose
Slit left wrist, or let trigger loose

(Achoo, achoo)

Sign from the Lord saying you'll get through
Saw his yungen by the corridor
The tears came running, the altar called