Lyrics

Hayya ‘ala as-salah, hayya ‘ala al-falaah x3
The street muadhin, calling the streets to success

[Verse]
It’s funny how it turned around
I remember being involved in the playground
Never going bed, just falling asleep when I lay down
And waking up in the same clothes from yesterday, look around
Looking at me, funny now I moved on in my gown
Today did look funny but probably in years from now
I don’t believe everything I said and what is written down
Cuz I don’t read nothing but the truth
I solemnly swear to speak nothing but the truth
Yeah, I had a troubled youth but I grew up before my adulthood
Now I’m in the booth to inspire like an adult should
Replace your house with a flat, and your town with a hood
Put them together equals my neck in the woods
What’s good? Gypsy Hill, send my love to SMS
Let them know there’s still a place for them inside my chest
Cuz I believe where you came from, you don’t forget
That made me who I am today, live with no regrets
I suffered couple threats, I witnessed lots of deaths
But that’s normal in my area, what did they expect?
Now my name’s calling in the areas they don’t expect
BBC, ITV, I guess Mum should be proud of this IC3
But I might turn a back on my career as an actor
Cuz I would rather stack up the deeds for the akhirah
Please stop attacking us, we are just people
I don’t claim perfection, me and you are equal
I’m just on the ‘calling to success for my people’
Cuz good deeds are worth more than money
You can argue with me now, but when we die, you’ll agree with me
You can’t swim the sea with me, if this is how you think
I’m a slave of the Most High, bro, what did you think?
This life’s like a dream, you get excited while you’re involved
But when it’s over, you look back and say is that all?
So this life don’t excite me, the next one does
And I don’t watch what the next one does
I’m looking out for us, that’s the wife and the kid
That’s the life of the mature, that’s the life that I live
And they say money over women, that’s super young
Cuz when you’re grown, your wife’s like your best friend and your mum
The mother of your children, your daughter and your son
The backbone of your household, your knife and your gun
So let your guns run, metaphor's a lot of fun
Imma get straight to the point, call me the boring one
Machiavelli with the mic when I speak
They should put the podium in the middle of the street
And let me speak to my people, cuz they don’t relate to my people

[Chorus] (x2)
Hayya ‘ala as-salah, hayya ‘ala al-falaah x3
Street muadhin, calling the streets to success