Tonart: D minor•
Verse 1
Will, the word out on the street man, you gonna be high cappin' now,
since you got your new album comin' out.
Ain't that a bitch?
You know goddamn well I'm
on that other level.
When I left my neighborhood, to make this big break,
I promised my road dogs that I'd dedicate a super jam to the hood.
That sharp as a sickle, so he'd ill feel war,
better known as the nipple.
F
Everybody know my hood,
C#
they say it's no good
But they don't talk that shit
in my nick of the woods
We ain't got the homes and fans to rise
So the only thing we have to
fight for is our pride
Washington
Armstrong,
Mayweather,
St.
Williams
Robertson,
Thomas,
Hopes, we all be chillin'
But when a sucker starts illin',
the chillin' disrupts
And like
Kim
Ross, we tear they ass up in the war
Don't fuck up, big big big big boy
Lick lick lick lick lick,
make a move and you're dead
Don't fuck up, big big big big boy
I'm down to take a big pull,
big big big boy
C#
Lick lick lick make a move
and you're dead
Crack a sword on the main road,
the brothers of
Bo
The police come around but they
C#
ain't got no control
You can get an ounce at
Pop's
Cafe
And you can buy pussy 24 hours a day
Hoes slack you down as
you cruise the street
Jump in the car with any
motherfuckin' body they meet
Before you can make the
block and stop
They'll chew your ass, lick your nuts,
and suck your cock for a rock
They don't give a damn
who you are in society
As long as you got the damn money
Watch your back, stash your crack,
because you might get jacked
We got some vicious bitches
trained to attack
You keep away from the wall
Yo,
Reddy
Red, won't you tell your soft
-hearted fake -ass duke
Db
In a booty peanut patty face
Db
Whole ass motherfucker's what 5th
Ward is, boy
C#
Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot
Hey,
Chop, where your lil'
punk -ass brother at?
Aw, nigga, I don't know what
C#
the fuck you talkin' about
The last time I seen your punk -ass brother
He was playin' with a motherfuckin'
G .I.
Joe
Wait a minute, motherfucker,
let me tell your black ass somethin'
My little brother threw away his
G .I.
Joe
He don't pack a lunch kit, he pack a 44
He says, this still ain't his meal
He only use it with
Jones, but every time he comes home,
he has a different dookie on
Maybe I influenced him, some say I ruined him,
but they ain't never been in my shoes
So yo, fuck them,
pistol -pushin' pussies down at
City
Hall
Ab
C#
I blame them shit hangin'
for all this damn turmoil
They got the power to reconstruct,
but don't give a fuck about the ones who are stuck
My simple sound, cause they suck
I voted and voted to do
away with the negligence
I ain't goin' to war for a
shit -talkin' president
The demon is scheming,
but his mask is glass
My people's crying and dying,
while he sit on his wrinkled ass
Laugh, motherfucker,
but your stentures are far
Cause see, you're gonna get yours
if you ever come to the war
Yo,
D -Man, what's up with these
stupid motherfuckers
C#
Talking more than hoods,
they fucking shit
Calling us meatheads, ain't that hurt?
The war don't produce no
Man, what I want you to do with me, man,
C#
is talk about these bitch -ass motherfuckers
Spittin' all that nutty
Db
Man, put these mother
fuckers on the spot
Because this goddamn shit
Keepin' them honest,
Jesse
Thomas
Don't you worry, I promise
They say we're meatheads,
I guess that makes them bajanas
They can't get honest,
that's just that high cap and chill
They come with shotguns,
ain't got none because they can't come from here
They fear incarceration,
not because of freedom
Db
But how the penitentiary pimps
are gonna greet him
Db
Walk around in free world with their guns
Db
that can bash behind the walls,
they lose their bars
and also their ass, I know your type,
you like to fight
but don't walk alone,
always running with a thousand motherfucking morons
reddy red, got a cut for you,
it ain't enough for you
I tell you what to do,
you better not come to the wall
Db
Dm
that's right motherfuckers,
you come from the war, you can't help but be hard
so don't be jayin' your
stupid ass down here
Dm
thinkin' you gon' run some
with that hoe shit
Dm
cause we'll fuck around and
be shippin' your ass back
To your freaked out,
Dm
Dm
bald -headed -ass momma
Dm
Dm
Dm
Keep away from the ward
Dm
Make a move and you're
Dm
Dm
Dm
dead
Make a move and you're dead
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TunerE A D G B E
Akkorde & SongtexteC# F Db Ab Dm
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