Lyrics:
lungs
Kill the perfect man lik “no biggie”
Now that's just dead wrong
I'll pull up and have shoot outs goin back and 4th... ping pong
As you can see I
The Art Of War
Appear weak when you are strong and strong when you are weak
The supreme Art of War is to subdue the enemy without fighting
If you
figures
Oooh, what can you do
When you can't trust your crew, time to bust out the wenty-two
Boo-yaow! Ran out of weed, so I'm sippin'
On this Hennesey,
figures
Oooh, what can you do
When you can't trust your crew, time to bust out the wenty-two
Boo-yaow! Ran out of weed, so I'm sippin'
On this Hennesey,
it
Land taken by forced enslavement
Renamed and paved with hatred
This bitch has been blatantly racist
Our hands up, you still shoot
We can't breathe.
watch is probably Two-tone
I been on my shit my momma always say im too grown
Looking like a black nigga Jesus I get too stoned
Hanging out on crosses
Im
'Cause when it's time to shoot they quick to point the heat right back
I got one bad chick, she by my side
About two more wait-in outside
Roll out
Been infused by Craig Hodges and Abdul-Rauf
Examples like Olympic, Black Power salutes
To Panther troops, I saw as I pursued my truth
If racism is
wasn't black-owned
It get burned up when the SC erupt
I hear the fakes on the
Radio make my ears ache
We aim and shoot the wack to reduce the pain
Black
Cool-ass Al, he got a badge from the neighborhood yo
Fly police car, the ninety-two model, now check it out
Now Al used to rob, used to smoke,
A change that no other out there can claim
Now what I've done will make you laugh
So don't you ever be offended by the words I pass
I'll make you tickle,
the type you shoot dice with and win dawg
Unless you want to get your ass laid out in Gilmore
He had some soldiers, 'mind me Troy and E-Bags
When they
night
I look up 2 my mama
Strong black woman on her own
Work 2/3 jobs we was home on our own
Food on da table roof over our head
My mama played da daddy
sunny, act one, near a money machine
Jumped out the cream Lex with Jacks, she rocked a black tennis skirt
With Stan Smith's, about a size 6
Jewels,
to go after B
And I still smash on C
I got two fifth on me
Like the quarterback of the cheese
I'm in the field, no cleats
Breakin' that seal by the P
it's off the pursuits
Back in fatigues, black tees and Timberland boots nigga
The year is new I want my spot back
Take 2, matter fact take the whole
One, two, three and the place to be
You got the almighty Talib Kweli, BK emcee
It's the international rockin' with Madlib
We got the Strong Arm
Little shortie sedated thinkin' the way out is by selling cracks
I seen black borthers cry like day by day the number multiply
And the devil don't give
Now number two, practiced the snake style
He was known as the snake spirit
He had the speed of a snake
Niggas is like serpents out there
(Snake
let's get em
I got shooters by my side that shoot like mellow
Call broem double M gonn shred em
We that big fourteen two seven
I get nothing but green
We do this Everyday
I be on it every night, you know I do it right
I be on it
Bet we do this shit like everyday
I be on it, I be on it
Aim and shoot
headed to Davy Byrne's, where
we met Fritz Senn, Rand Brandes, Jonathan Allison, Eithne Strong,
and Suzette Henke for dinner which was followed by much
New York big city of dreams
And everything in New York ain't always what it seems
You might get fooled if you come from out of town
But I'm down by
smoke you like the tree stron
All black fit
When I’m walking out the trap
Nigga
Two glocks on me best believe you Gone get smacked nigga
Punching up shit
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