| Every year the same shit happens
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| More fuckin' funerals, dead homies
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| Niggas out here killin' each other
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| I don’t know why
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| And when it happens to you
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| Just can’t turn the other fuckin' cheek
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| Gotta get back for your dead niggas
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| Yeah I’m caught up to
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| (Ice-T)
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| Sometimes I sit and wonder
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| How many motherfuckers gonna die this summer
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| Gunshots from the hummer
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| Now the sawed-off riot pumps lead across your beds
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| They said: «Mama, less you wouldn’t strike back»
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| Mack ten, eleven, twelve, hit us and then puts us to hell
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| They started it, there’s no way to mend it, we’ll end it
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| My crew’ll hit the matresses, G.O.D
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| Father style — all prepared to get buckwild
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| Half my niggas ball, other half ain’t got it all
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| They stay up at nights waitin' on a combat call
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| Drinkin' hard liquor, smokin' mad loop and shit
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| So high, sometimes I even gotta load they clips
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| I ain’t mad at them though, they dumps the ammo
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| In you, suspend you in the air, hell yeah
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| It’s the time that the real niggas live for retaliation
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| Move on 'em, show, improve on 'em
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| All you punk bitches just stand back and watch
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| Me, I’m oilin' up the Heckler & Koch
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| I gots no love, for them busters, who put the work in
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| I can still see my fuckin' boys' body jerkin'
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| I ran over to him, put my hand on his chest
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| Hole like an apple in the side of his neck
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| His eyes glanced up, his body jerked once more
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| There’s nothin' else to do but to go to war
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| Slide the hollow-tips in the chrome four-four
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| Roll down the windows, hang the heat out the door
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| Catch all the fuckin' bodies that I can tonight
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| Double-back on your bitch crew, broad daylight
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| (Chorus: Ice-T)
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| There’s no innocence allowed in these ghetto streets
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| Grab your guns, buck 'em off, when ya hit ya leak
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| Tell me what would you do if they killed your best friend?
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| Could you keep your cool, would the wounds mend?
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| If I said «peace», I’ll be a motherfuckin' liar
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| («I'm lettin' off until my arms tired» — cut and scratched*)Retaliation
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| (Ice-T)
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| Been packin' straps so long
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| I gots some permanent bruise in my leg
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| Better that than dead
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| Now it’s time to show you what I’m trained for in this
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| Rally up the wolfpack-attack relentless
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| Make ya understand it was the wrong crew ya fuck with
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| Now it’s on bitches, guys are darker than shit
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| You musta not a known who you fuckin' hit that day
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| Or maybe you did, you’re dyin' anyway
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| And not just you, some of your family
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| To tell you the truth any fuckin' body we see
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| You might just wanna turn yourself into me
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| To save your hood pain of my crews' treachery
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| You fucked up, we know who you are, where ya live
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| We got your place ran up to a cop on the take
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| We’ll hit your block so hard, you’ll swear it was an earthquake
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| Squeeze off the fully-auto, make your whole crib shake
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| I know you’re breathin' hard, livin' on your last day
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| Or maybe, you’re laughin', thinkin' that you got away
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| I don’t give a fuck, I won’t sleep
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| Till one of us lays me and my nigga
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| That’s the fear of these triggers
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| If ya smart, ya probably make a break out of state
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| We’ll just snatch your kid, grab your fuckin' bitch and wait
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| I’ll catch ya down South, lay your ass out straight
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| There’s no where to run, it’s time to meet your make
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| You got one chance, arm your whole damn crew
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| I couldn’t stop my fuckin' niggas if I wanted to
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| (Chorus: Ice-T)
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| There’s no innocence allowed in these ghetto streets
|
| Grab your guns, buck 'em off, when ya hit your leak
|
| Tell me what would you do if they killed your best friend?
|
| Could you keep your cool, would the wounds mend?
|
| If I said «peace», I’ll be a motherfuckin' liar
|
| («I'm lettin' off until my arms tired» — *cut and scratched*)
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| Retaliation
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| («Lettin' off until my arms tired» — *cut and scratched*) |