: Cut the chord from this power supply that gives control to this failure. I am justice anticipating sweet revenge, like a killer. As the fog clears
Cut the chord from this power supply that gives control to this failure. I am justice anticipating sweet revenge, like a killer. As the fog clears out
the dough and make a mess of things, Kids are murdering other kids for the fun of it, Instead of using their mind or their fist, they put a gun in it
rejected Walk on And feel neglected I feel Like I'm the message Unheard But I'm the message I'm the last prolific remaining offer from the gutter SHOT
.. [Verse One: Brother J] African. Very African. Come and step in brothers temple see what's happenin From the bass low, coming down from below, Tell
[Brother J] Descending from the tribes of Africa Inspired by the great black leaders [Professor X] Vanglorious This is protected By the Red, the Black
niga Joseph waaaayne yeah we except check and loose chaaaange cause tha ghetto is where we come from Tha same place [? ] bitches run from since tha beginning I had a fist
game are still the same, cause days are shorter And times are harder, I'm fighting to keep my head above water Cause I got to protect myself from the
don't give a damn no mo' You ain't dealing with the same motherfucker from three years ago When a nigga fight fair, knocking a patch out your hair But it quickly, from
crying- she'd screamed "Lick the whipped cream from off of her tits" See me laying for the queen all this fisting Reminds me of a dream I had at fifteen Last
were made to forget Bring the noise, to all my boyz Know the real from the bustas and the decoys And if ya hustle like a real G Pump ya fists if ya feel
were made to forget Bring tha noise To all my boyz Know tha real from tha bustas And the decoys And if ya hustle like a real 'G' Pump ya fists if ya feel
{*Male sings in background, which repeats the last word on every other line during 50 Cent's verse; then says "body" throughout Banks & Yayo's verse*} [
talk It's in the air of New York So everybody'll pick em up, kissin em up Treatin' them like they own, in dis hood we call home Fist fight till we grown
of us. Ladies love us and my posse’s kicking up dust. It’s on till the break of dawn and we’re starting this party from dusk Ok … let’s go Eminem Back
it going like crisco Cuz the DJ grab the record by the fist full by the crate full, and we grateful When you hear the stuff of records get a tasteful (Last
soot and stone, He draws from his holster, a man. Crawlin' alone through the soot and stone, He makes his way home half to death... He clenched his fists
