Lyrics Pain Gang (feat. B-Real of Cypress Hill & Everlast of La Coka Nostra) - Ill Bill, B-Real of Cypress Hill, Everlast Of La Coka Nostra

Pain Gang (feat. B-Real of Cypress Hill & Everlast of La Coka Nostra)

You been to jail before?
Me?
Of course I’ve been to jail.
They don’t even want me in jail no more,
I’m too old now.
They want guys like you
Bloods and Crips, the Ñietas, Latin Kings, Disciples, and Vice Lords
All crews that bang
Vatos Locos, Four Corner Hustler thing, the Mexican Mafia
All crews that bang
Al-Qaeda, CIA, Hamas, the Mossad, NYPD
All crews that bang
Non Phixion, Cypress Hill, House of Pain, La Coka Nostra
All crews that bang
From Don Corleone or to Tony Montana
Whatever you are, homie, bikers or bandanas
Riders who cock hammers and soldiers who roll deep
I’m a child of the night, homie I don’t sleep
My crew, we slow creep while you’re counting your sheep
We bang on anybody stepping up they bleed in the street
Maybe you got what it takes to lead a team of cutthroats
Maybe you hang around with a crew of fuckholes
Fakes, frauds, fictional bangers
Never held a heater til you had someone take your picture
Looking invincible with it, you did it for glory
Some did it for real and others they tell stories
But the collective we have here’s respected
Making you an offer you should never reject it
You roll with the bowl over, baby the math is simple
It’s pop pop pop in your temple
IRA scheming, PLO dreaming, Celtic heathen, peckerwood demon
Kicking and screaming through the depths of hell
Bareback riding on a jezebel
The hammer’s cocked, you get shot by the shell
I burnt an angel’s wings then sang while he fell
There’s a party in hell, there’s a war in heaven
The whole world been shook since 9/11
With Muslim extremists and Zionists
Trying to rule the world with an iron fist
While the junkies and the dealers are doing the bids
Uncle Howie say it’s time for revolution, kids
Don’t spill your blood on foreign land
Come outside on the block with your gun in your hand
If you’re mad as fuck and won’t take it no more
Buck shots in the air like you ready for war
We don’t die, we multiply
This song was not made to glorify gang culture
Nor to explore the lives of soldiers or street villains
Ghetto superstars, political heroes
Compton G’s to Brooklyn Deniros
Raised from children to killers, prisoners to peace prize winners
Was Nelson Mandela a terrorist?
Let’s consider the truth: The biggest gang in the world is the police
Our tax dollars pay for no justice and no peace
An empty crack vials crushed by ten year old feet
On their way to school past the meth heads and dope fiends
Anatomy of a true banger, I ain’t shit without my homeboys
Fuck with my set, you get your goons strangled
I won’t be convicted like Jimmy Coonan
And you’re not a gangster, who the fuck you think you fooling?
My ruthless brilliance soon to produce me millions
Billy Idol homeboy, peace to Tookie Williams