Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Burning Season, artist - KIllarmy. Album song Silent Weapons For Quiet Wars, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.08.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Wu
Song language: English
Burning Season |
Crazy head get out there God |
Blast that nigga hard |
It’s all real over here |
Killa Sin, 9th Prince, what |
We don’t give a fuck |
Yo, it’s burning season |
Y’all thugs is guiltly of high treason |
Many of them bleeding |
Some getting sent to the brain for no reason |
On the streets niggas kill without a license, in Scarsville |
It’s all for real cause everything is real |
Don’t sleep on the average cat he’s packing steel |
Ayo nigga I’m on the cash rules |
Wasted in my hand, half a hundred grand |
Injure that pretender in the black land |
Heard he be the crack man |
Selling major jums (?) by the pager son |
He the one sporting crazy tunes (?) lace 'em with your tongue |
So here’s the plan |
Get the Glock I got the doo-wop |
Follow him for two blocks |
And pop him if he do cock |
Scat back better snap his nap back for that black |
Pass the stacks to Fat Cat and find out where the crack’s at |
Rolling out make sure you keep your phone out |
So I can reach your shit quick |
Get his whip stripped and take my own route |
For safety |
Mistakes be for hasty |
Many jakes who chase me |
But never have the space to embrace me |
A fool’s game where all the rules change |
I never move the same |
But who’s to blame |
My nigga Buddha came with the ruger aim |
Somebody screamed stop the violence |
So this nigga had the silencer spitting black talons at any challenger |
Yo, it was a ghetto Vietnam I tried to flee and harm |
Me and Har my nigga Buddha caught about three in the arm |
But one traveled to his abdomen |
I grabbed him and embraced him |
Had to see how bad this crab had laced him |
Yo, rapidly bleeding started pleading for his life |
Take care my seed and my wife |
Make sure she’s feeding him right |
True indeed black I got your back |
I hold it down on the real |
May you rest in peace son |
I see you on the ground |
Many times I fought the urge to resort to crime |
But I find my criminal mind complying with the villain kind |
I’m feeling nines 'til they overflow |
Going blow for blow with the rest |
Cause them try and test the best |
It’s a slug fest |
Round one sounds wrong I found one |
Lurking in the back now clapped him with my pound son |
The shells drop |
Old ladies yell for the cops and shorty shot shit |
Fell in the arms of his pops and didn’t mean to |
Why he had them running away |
Should have taught him how to duck when he heard the fucking gun spray |
I say a prayer for the kid, keep stepping |
With my weapon cocked wetting up the block every section hot |
The gats flash out by leaps and bounds |
Now police and hounds making up grounds |
Cause they chasing me down |
I’m all alone in this war zone |
My brain’s under stress |
Thinking I’m blessed if I can make it home |
Scared to death kid |
Catch my breath I bear left |
Hit the weeds and then rest to calm my chest |
But an undercover had discovered my plot and plan |
I shot the man so I dropped my Glock and ran |
Get the fuck out the way, move, move |
Get the fuck out the way, oh shit |
Yo, I made a rally to a dark alley |
Where I bumped heads with crackhead Fred and his bitch named Sally |
She had a down low lab for me to go to |
Where I could relax and count stacks like I’m supposed to |
Keep my whereabouts on the hush hush |
I had to provide some heroin high, sick grooves, and five bags of dust |
I didn’t wet up or let it slide because I was petrified |
If homicide got me they gonna watch me die |
Fuck that, I’m going all out |
No half stepping |
My last weapon is cocked to keep that ass jetting |
I lay low for like five days or so |
Put some troopers on the block round the clock to make me dough |
Yo out of sight and out of mind be my motto |
I promise myself I’m gonna make it to see tomorrow |
Word up, Killarm '96 |
Killa Sin, word up |
9th Prince |
The saga continues |
For real though gotta let these niggas know |
To the rounds in the cut, all real niggas raise up |