Alpha & Omega is my testimony to the world, believers and nonbelievers alike. In this song, I’m telling you where my strength truly comes from. My knees don’t break because they kneel to one God. My voice doesn’t tire because it sings to the One who lifts me. Everything I have, everything I overcome, comes from Him.

His grace gives me courage. His protection expands my borders. His mercy prepares my path long before I walk it.

When I say “Alpha & Omega,” I am reminding you, and myself, that He begins everything in me and He completes it.

Abatabaazi is my message to you, my daughter. I am speaking directly to you, reminding you where you come from and who you belong to. You are a child of the land, raised by values, discipline and community.

As you grow, I want you to know that character matters more than pride, and trusting in God is greater than any strength you will ever carry on your own.

Through every stage of your life, I promise you my protection, my guidance and my presence. I will always stand between you and the world, fighting for you when you cannot fight for yourself.

Kanjatule is a song about the kind of love that grips you deeply. The love you cannot ignore even when it confuses you, annoys you or overwhelms you. It speaks for anyone who has wanted someone so much that their presence shakes your thoughts and their absence leaves a hole you cannot explain.

The song carries the tension between sweetness and pain, desire and doubt, holding on and figuring things out.

It is a confession of honesty: “I don’t have anyone else… it’s you.” A plea to sit down, talk and understand each other. Kanjatule… let’s solve this today.

This song comes from a question my people live with every day. It is the question the youth ask when systems fail them, when politics eats everything, and when survival feels heavier than hope. I wake up, I pray, I work, yet the burden keeps growing. Violence takes parents from children. Fear replaces play. And still, no one answers the question honestly.

I ask it out loud. Not in anger, but in truth. Not to accuse, but to expose.

The song is a mirror to society, asking why suffering keeps following us and whether our skin is part of the sentence. Is it because I’m black?

Games Lovers Play is a story about the kind of heartbreak many people go through: the confusion, the broken promises and the memories that refuse to fade. It speaks for anyone who has given their heart fully and still ended up hurt.

The song captures the moment when love shifts from hope to disappointment, when words no longer match actions, and when silence answers more than explanations ever could.

Sometimes, even with the best intentions, love becomes a game… and someone always walks away wounded.

I waited for years to get a chance to perform at Roast and Rhyme. When the moment finally came, I was excited and ready with my band. A day before the show, the organisers asked me for my technical rider. I reached out to the band expecting one clear file, but every musician sent me their own version. It took more than four hours before I could finally forward one complete document.

That pressure, confusion and rush taught me something real: most problems start from poor communication. And that experience became the song Technical Rider.

It is not only about music. It is about life, teamwork and relationships. Everyone has their needs, their style, their instructions. Instead of guessing, tell me clearly. Give me honesty. Give me your “technical rider.”

Trouble comes from the lessons I was raised on. Growing up, my mother always told me, “Stay out of trouble, because whatever you put into the world will come back to you.” Life proved her right.

I have seen people switch faces, betray friends, steal money, pretend to be loyal while hiding their true intentions. Every time, the same truth follows them: trouble finds those who chase it.

I speak as a man who wants to live by higher standards. I hail Selassie, I hold my Queen close, and I move with purpose. Karma is real… and it never misses.

Focus is a nightlife song. A moment where I am simply observing energy, rhythm and confidence on the dance floor. I am describing a girl who knows how to move, owns her space and enjoys herself without caring who is watching.

It is not about disrespecting her. It is about celebrating her freedom and the power she carries when she dances. The vibe is playful, the mood is light and the energy is real.

Sometimes music does not need a deep message. It just needs truth from the moment. And that night, the moment was pure dance, pure joy, pure whine… pure focus.

Zinga Omuti is a roots song about culture, community and the simple rhythms of everyday life. It captures the Ugandan vibe: moving from one hangout to another, spending time with friends, sharing stories and unwinding after a long day.

The song speaks about herbs through the lens of meditation, healing and traditions carried through generations. It recognises that people have different ways of slowing down and reconnecting with themselves.

In true reggae spirit, it speaks of liberation, natural mystic, good education and the freedom to choose peace in a world full of pressure.

Dem Dead is not about violence. It is about endings. In this collaboration with Krazy MCee, I am talking about the death of doubt, envy, fake competition and the influence of people who move with bad intentions. We have watched, listened and grown. What no longer serves purpose has already expired.

The song speaks to confidence earned through work, not noise. To standing firm while others talk. To rising above Babylon systems that never want to see you win.

When we say “dem dead,” we mean their negativity has no power anymore. The work is done. We move forward.