gangland boundary. There's Willy Wright and his boys - one helluva noise, that's Billy's boys! With fully-fashioned mugs, that's Little John's thugs
mad John Finn. I took his wretched life Now I'm over near the bandstand Every hand moving on John Finns' wife Every hand moving on John Finns' wife And John
Butcher was the king of the hill He ran his business with a deadly will His foreman, John, had a pretty wife The way she looked cut Jim like a knife John
Harlem shit bruh - HA! Yeah, Darkside nigga [echoes] Azariah I love you baby - that's my little Queen Ryan what up? Junito what up? Chu-Chu what up? John-John
mad John Finn I took his wretched life Now I'm over by the bandstand Every hand moving on John Finns' wife Every hand moving on John Finns' wife And John
, battle ground no survival You goin, down, y'all niggaz fuck around Shittin' where you sleepin', so my rhyme proposal Came indecent, beef from the butcher
disagree on a gangland boundary There's Willy Wright and his boys, one helluva noise That's Billy's boys with fully-fashioned mugs That's little John
a guy named Urgh in 50,000 B.C. I was Rasputin and all the chicks he had I was Catherine the Great I was my mom and dad I've been a butcher I've been
here? I'm sorry, but I'm much too young for this I'll come back again next year. He came to lend a helping hand To the miller and the butcher's men
's still no man's land The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand To man's blind indifference to his fellow man To a whole generation that were butchered
sheet, boricua heat, a street fleet, with missle seekers Cause G.I. Joe's a John Doe, ass beat with some street sweepers Hold the heaters, want a war? Bless the butcher
a pain in the neck 'Cause we're the cops of the world, boys We're the cops of the world And clean the johns with a rag, boys Clean the johns with a
a pain in the neck 'Cause we're the Cops of the World, boys We're the Cops of the World And clean the johns with a rag, boys Clean the johns with a rag
like a busted John From the man hat who stand up franks Now the road to your door doesn't seem like a slates Now you're gone, gone like cotton candy Well, the butcher
like a [busted john] From the [mad hat] to the stand up franks Now the walk to your door doesn't seem like the thanks Now you're gone, gone like cotton candy Well the butcher
