Verse 1 & 2 of Cape crusader
They don't understand the man now they wanna let the style seize
They planned against the band with propaganda and banned our LP's
7 years of blood,sweat and tears
it's like only the wack crews are getting theirs
My pockets are broken, cause the prophet is outspoken
They say mindless topics only get the crowd open
they even said you've gotto sound like this one or that one
Silence is golden,even platinum
And drop the knowledge trip and politics
and holler shit to get the rand and the dollar quick
Life is kinda funny with the gospel it sends me
Money can test your morals,if your tummy's empty
being desolate can tempt a kid for duckets
and say anything to benefit the pockets
I just hope I stay true for later
and remain a Cape crusader

Verse #2
I transmit from the Bush like an umbilical chord
I'm stranded in Kush with spiritual thoughts
I'm treated like an outkast,cause the styles' harsh
IRA brother that bombs like I'm from Belfast
I'm the culprit that insulted the dull shit
I dared to say Western civilisation is uncultured
A peace out to those who remembered and felt it
and those who felt offended, I meant it so I can't help it
no apology, my mouth is a South-Easter
bringing a wind of change for injured brains not only a crowd pleaser
I think my people deserve to hear how the devil gets cursed this year
so I perservere
to rise and shine and circumsize the mind
3rd eyes are blind
I can't wait to wake you later
we're running out of time Cape crusader

Verse #2 of Roof
is on fire from Ghetto Code

Do you remember back in the days, damn it was fun
Saturday matinees, we packed out the Base,the place we used to come
When most rap groups wore polyester tracksuits
before black boots, before phat loops
and learned to rock to burn the spot
no guns, no blunts, but we earned our props
B-boyz(and b-girls)x3 that's what we used to shout
B-boys(and b-girls)x3 we cold turned it out
Nuwe jaar was deur mekaar to the break of dawn
we came from near and far to hear our favourite songz
to let the ding rik with the funky street noize
this we dedicate to the B-boys(and b-girls)

Verse #3 of Kultchril Bandits
You don't have no rhythm and no soul g
Now you wanna control me
Mister cultural bandit
with your multiple, ultra-ill plans,tricking and transmitting
genocide, leaving us in bondage when
they then devide our music like our continent
I make a fuss, cause they will rush
with fables just to lable us, it's racial plus
they're more eager to force feed ya
with happy poppy, crappy sloppy
Love songz and lullabies to shut ya eyes ooh
and suck you dry through
contracts to con blacks
and creating stereotypes.Now there's tons of kids just
talking about guns and bitches
while they infiltrate and isolate
instill hate now we're in an idle state