Mel-Man and Van Illa rollin down to Manila
Rasin a bigger crowd than the thrilla
We both be movin like gorilaz in the mist
When you see us it's your pants that be pissed
Your croch has a yellow tinge to it
Mel just likes to spit so fluid
He's comin through burnin like fire and chilin like ice
This kids so tuff he comes through twice like heide fleice