[Intro: Samples]
People want to think that this is the Wild West – we don’t have any laws. What we don’t have is enforcement of those laws
Senator Fumo argues tougher gun laws alone won’t stop shootings
Last time I checked we had a law against murder. It doesn’t prevent people from killing people
The governor, the mayor, the DA, they all want stricter gun laws
[Spoken Word: Beanie Sigel]
Man, fuck all that bullshit! Vinnie Paz, what up? Broad Street Bully in the building. I say kill them all! Exterminate these roaches! Fuck that! You pay me or pay Carto! Pay Pells or somebody, Hawkins or somebody. Pay me or pay the funeral home, nigga! Kill all y'all niggas! What!
[Verse 1: Beanie Sigel]
May death come to all those who cross us
The preachers, the pastors, the deacons, coffins
Church masses, closed caskets
Bible verses, long black hearses
Long-ass gats too big for holsters
Obituary posters is getting posted
The reaper closing in, he getting closer
You just fake, you blink, it’s over
State prop soldier here, SK shoulder gear
Ice grill who? Hold that stare
Half a clip, now hold that there
Throw out your hip, now roll that chair, yeah
You missed the list of the souls I spare
I double-checked that you ain’t on that there
I squeeze weapons, hollow points open up like the cobra head
Collapse lungs like a fold-up chair, flatline, clear!
People want to think that this is the Wild West – we don’t have any laws. What we don’t have is enforcement of those laws
Senator Fumo argues tougher gun laws alone won’t stop shootings
Last time I checked we had a law against murder. It doesn’t prevent people from killing people
The governor, the mayor, the DA, they all want stricter gun laws
[Spoken Word: Beanie Sigel]
Man, fuck all that bullshit! Vinnie Paz, what up? Broad Street Bully in the building. I say kill them all! Exterminate these roaches! Fuck that! You pay me or pay Carto! Pay Pells or somebody, Hawkins or somebody. Pay me or pay the funeral home, nigga! Kill all y'all niggas! What!
[Verse 1: Beanie Sigel]
May death come to all those who cross us
The preachers, the pastors, the deacons, coffins
Church masses, closed caskets
Bible verses, long black hearses
Long-ass gats too big for holsters
Obituary posters is getting posted
The reaper closing in, he getting closer
You just fake, you blink, it’s over
State prop soldier here, SK shoulder gear
Ice grill who? Hold that stare
Half a clip, now hold that there
Throw out your hip, now roll that chair, yeah
You missed the list of the souls I spare
I double-checked that you ain’t on that there
I squeeze weapons, hollow points open up like the cobra head
Collapse lungs like a fold-up chair, flatline, clear!
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!