Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dogs Of War, artist - Ghostface Killah. Album song Fishscale, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Dogs Of War |
Just keep away (just keep away |
Go on, it’s not your fight!) |
It’s not yours nigga, fall back |
I’m about to blow something out here |
Straight up, yeah, this is a family thing |
We gon' handle our business and shit |
These muthafuckas know not to come around here like that |
This is real shit, real talk |
Four different niggas, with four different aspects, nigga |
This is family shit |
Who the fuck said family ain’t family no more, nigga? |
This is tight shit, tighter than white in ya wallet |
Yo, I’m talking bags of heavy coke, bracelets on every men |
Innocent dope pushers, over night king pins |
Indeed, we smack niggas up for their cheese |
Throw bleach in yo face, got beef, let it be chuck |
The streets don’t know my peeps |
Jumpin' out of UPS trucks, blowing niggas off they feet |
With four-four gloves, rims spinning, tippin' on fo-fo's |
My mouth be worth millions, something like Paul Wall’s |
Ladies look out; |
they ain’t thugs, they homo’s |
The film look hyper, when I clap 'em in slo mo' |
Ya’ll still paying the mob? |
We whip niggas out like waffle batter |
Theodore ancient with dart, flossin' them diamonds |
Discussing our hits over a glass of scotch |
Baywatch bitches that ski, take turns when they hand us the twat |
Think not, we still run the trains, til the condom pop |
On the low, we still fucking them cops |
Pretty things from all precints, friday nights, we holding they Glocks |
This is family, nigga, niggas can’t stand me |
Next up, my little man, I hand you the jammy |
You know the fam, what it is, it is what it is |
S.I.N.Y., where the animals live |
Ass bet, niggas run in yo cribs |
I don’t care if you blast for the cash, then scramble yo wig |
I’m like «Damn, what a wonderful kid» |
I could do what I want, doing dirt, not serving a bid |
You know a real fam handle they biz, everybody get searched |
From the grandpops, down to the kids |
And my time, I’m officially here, tell ya man |
Go and start up ya car, start shifting the gears |
Sun God got the pits for his ears, cuz niggas is scared |
Hoping I don’t let it blow in they ribs |
I said hot, niggas get robbed non stop |
Once the gun cock, niggas strip down to they socks |
And my fam at the tippity top, I won’t stop |
Believe it or not, you and ya man is close targets |
Juks everything, dice games, mini markets |
Fam gon' spark it, I’mma take whatever’s in the pockets |
Mostly the cash and the wallet, slide off the jewels |
Cuz you shining, begets and the diamonds |
Never deny niggas with iron… YO! |
Aiyo, chillin' with the Ceasar crew |
We can smoke, all in the halls |
It’s how many niggas with guns, got 'em on |
All tip top, cling to the fullest, mad bullets |
This is a hobby, the lobby where they clap yo hoods |
Get the paper, word to everything, we a acre up |
Barbequin' like a mutt, we ain’t taking nothing |
A high tech extremist, Gatorade, paid ya boy some money |
To lay up on the low, swinging beamers |
I need to be an actor, but instead, I’d rather be in Hempstead |
All of my bread came from crack barbers and shoppers |
So much beef in these whoppers |
Guns that’ll knock out floors and hit choppers |
What? |
What? |
The family remains, cuz it’s grain |
It’s automatic, I live it and I claim it |
It’s real, come around here, you bought here |
Yo, lay that half tape, then you will get wrapped real quick |
Aiyo, we hug the block on President’s Day |
Slinging all year round, gettin' that money the American way |
Might run up in yo wedding, grab the reverand and spray |
And let the shots fall wherever they may |
This is family, nigga, minus the mob ties |
The resurrection of Toney Starks & Trife Dies', starring in Part 5 |
Niggas’ll rather die when they’re pride’s in question |
Try’nna play hero, getting stuck for they prized possessions |
Look you staring in the eyes of oppression, that’s why I ride with protection |
Extended clips, super sizing my weapons |
Five eleven, keep the heat tucked |
That’ll burn a hole thru ya stomach like acid reflux |
Get buried in ya cheap tux' |
We make it hard for you niggas to keep up |
Been thru a hundred towns, and running, beating the streets up |
Come up north in New York, down in Miami, pumping |
At a table, breaking bread like a family |
Florida, where we follow the code of the streets and |
Breaking the beats and, we taking the eats |
Never the least, we invading the streets |
Shaking the beast, we familiar for life |
We don’t run, we grab knives, my double edged spit life |
My dogs is real tight, shooting the dice |
Some of my fam might snatch ya ice |
Got family that go to church, come back like you don’t work |
Got family that’ll set you up, got family that chill, wanna spark the dutch |
Wizard my fam, that stuck you up, I got fam that’ll fuck you up |
Chop you up, put your body in the back of the truck |
Osama Island, we been wilding, see the violence |
We display talent, respect balance, nigga, Shaolin |