Cowboys

Fugees

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Fugees

Fugees (/ˈfuːdʒiːz/) (formerly Tranzlator Crew) were an American hip hop group who rose to fame in the mid-1990s. Their repertoire included elements of hip hop, soul and Caribbean music, particularly reggae. The members of the group were rapper/singer/producer Wyclef Jean, rapper/singer/producer Lauryn Hill and rapper Pras Michel. Deriving their name from the term refugee, Jean and Pras are Haitian, while Hill is American. The group recorded two albums—one of which, The Score (1996), was a multi-platinum and Grammy-winning success—before disbanding in 1997. Hill and Jean each went on to successful solo recording careers; Michel focused on soundtrack recordings and acting, though he found commercial success with his song "Ghetto Supastar". In 2007, MTV ranked … more »


Year:
1996
5:23
#1

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Everyone wants to be a cowboy 
Grab your guns boy 
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies

Zen, zen zen zen zen zen zen 
You shot your bullet, but the bullet wwnt
Desperado, do work for new boy 
I pull out my gun and plug two like trugoy 

Wyclef 
Pace 1 
Yo this was how the west was won
Our motto, a true desperado
Rappers want to be actors 
So they play the Jesse James character 
And get they bones fractured
You ain't got no guns, you off to the precinct 
Inside tough guys are feminine like sheena easton 
Woman cry, woman cry, son still dies 
Thrown off the building like the fall guy 
Caved in the grave cause you didn't know how to behave 
Playin' cowboy now you sleep with the slaves 
Who's the desperado, sellin' bottles in the alley 
On some villain shit, wearin' a mask like Jim Carrey 
With his gat cocked, stinkin' up the crack spot 
Pace 1 dies with both eyes on the jackpot 
The town that I'm from beggars eat cat chowder 
Sundance kid is the everyday purse snatcher 
If you see him coming, you better start running 
Like a terrorist I guarantee you he'll be humming
Dynamite, dynamite, clef I got the cash 
Yo let's skip town like harlem nights

Everyone wants to be a cowboy 
Grab your guns boy 
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies

We make moves in stage coaches 
Rah digga likes the roaches 
If anyone approaches 
We be like noches, buenos 
And I compose a poem for the many gun-slingers 
R&b singers, perpetrating guns with two fingers
My style is perhaps one of the foulest 
I inhale large clouds of smoke through my chalice
(Buckin' at stars) and write rhymes for hours 
The ghetto missy, drinkin' whiskey sours
Bust this scenario, can't no other niggas in the barrio 
(From newark to Ontario), bust us when we in stereo
Cause me and rashida rock the battles 
It's apparent, your no talent, cause your blazin' in your saddle
Watch these rap bitches get all up in your pockets 
Then bounce with accountants that give me good stock tips 
Cause props is up, digga's through the roof 
Burnin' niggas like I'm 90 proof
And for all you head beaters 
The lead eaters, the cheaters soon to be retreaters 
While mamasitas carry real heaters 
I rock the dooby and 
L rocks the Nubian twists 96 
Motherfuckers gettin' dissed 

Everyone wants to be a cowboy 
Grab your guns boy 
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies

Yeah, when the out's hooked up with the refugees 
It be more niggas than the NAACP 
Comin' up on weed of all type 
Smokin' home-grown out tobacco pipes
(You've got to know when to hold them 
Know when to fold them) 
I can take the sunshine, piss in your wine 
Steal your concubine, walk away with your goldmine
So oh ah achiga, mamase mamasa mamakusa 
F*ck the sheriff, I shot john Wayne 
Push him off the runaway train in the movie shane 
Yeah me and that kid, um "what's his name?" 
That would be me, young zee from no brain 
Smokin' pure from the health fodd store
While my whore slaps cops like zsa zsa gabor 
F*ck with out's it's like those Islam brothers 
We march through your hood with a million motherfuckers
So let's get high off the fu-gee-la 
When the east is in the house, like I'm blahzay-blah 

When pandemonium strikes, at midnight 
Full moon splits soft niggas in a lunatic 
On some absurd shit 
You talk back, hustlin' crack don't make you bigger 
Niggas who take your measurements quick, don't make it quicker
Stick and slide with vigor 
City streets hot like liquor 
21 gun saluting, shootin' niggas from the roof and 
Got nerve to mouth about it and the weight you claim you movin' 
Your whole style is loose and we goin' sew it like it's cotton
You fail to recognize that everybody could get gotten 
The bounty on your head, says your dead by manana 
Pop babies whisperin' that there's a body dropped, behind the lot 
Police blew up the spot and locked the whole block 
Medina is the east side of town lounge never till we yawnin' 
Gun players regular front page is the bonus 
Life will keep existing while I'm shitin' on the corners 
Life will keep existing while I'm shitin' on the corners 

Everyone wants to be a cowboy 
Grab your guns boy 
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the nigga dies

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Written by: Don Schlitz, Dwayne Battle, Jerome Hinds, John E Forte, Lauryn Hill, Nel Wyclef Jean, Rashia Fisher, Samuel P. Michel

Lyrics © JELLYBEAN MUSIC GROUP, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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    "Cowboys Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 Dec. 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/33169396/Fugees/Cowboys>.

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