Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Soldiers of Fortune , by - Slaine. Song from the album 100% Pure Coka, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 26.01.2009
Record label: Suburban Noize
Song language: English
Soldiers of Fortune |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| I see past everyone else, my name is Billy Idol and my influence is heavily felt |
| Do it myself, my DNA inflict your slaughter like Tony way vocal talks shit to |
| his daughter |
| As I approach the hour of reprisal |
| In a black truck, black moon, black guns, black metal, black sun |
| Two minutes until midnight, we amped up |
| Homie, stand up, leave the competition blammed up |
| Walk quietly and carry a humongous biscuit |
| I’m that guy that smacked your moms and fucked your sister |
| I care less whether you love Buddha or Jesus |
| Not even Mohammed could stop these bullets from freezing |
| Your blood ice cold in your arms and legs |
| Lie in a lifeless pose plus you’re missing part of your head |
| I often thought if I could travel through time, what I would do |
| Often I drift between breaths of ganja fumes |
| Seeing mayhem unfold in the yards of schools |
| Seeing Satan on the chrome screaming God’s a fool |
| Peep the angel of death creepin' on you dudes |
| You’re confusing my customers, man, you’re not the truth |
| We walk close to the edge and we don’t care what the limit is |
| This is business, we the new Cohens and Simmonses |
| The bad seed you catch growing your images |
| You don’t know any lyricists, you only know what a gimmick is |
| I know about parents' dreams, I know where gimmick is |
| I know about guns, drugs, I know the whole city, kid |
| I know what an idiot is, where he lives with his bitch and his kid |
| For the bitch that he did was dug |
| I know about hate, I know there’s no love |
| I know about the stress from an AIDS test, I fuck with no glove |
| Tattoos from a dirty needle, spelling my alias |
| Ask about me in the bean and they’ll tell you how real he is |
| I’m the monsoon goon, pistol packing with coke |
| Packaging ropes, bringing razors to the back of your throat |
| Every record that I made is like a package of dope |
| So take a sniff of fury, homie, take a whack of the hope |
| Call me Mister White, call me Whitey Furrah |
| Play me out, call me Devil and I’ll send you to God |
| You pretend to be hard, yo I bring the Jihad |
| I make war on the man who makes war on the D |
| On the Rahkman and Rahim, Capo regime, captain of the team |
| I know I’m uncivilzed, I know I’m unclean |
| I know I get high, I know I’m sick, I’m obscene |
| Subliminal inning, original sinning |
| Purple drinks swimming, chasing young loose women |
| There’s flames for the coward, praise for the martyr |
| I’m older, I’m wiser, I’m James fucking Carter |
| In the meanwhile you’re going out like Reagan |
| If your girl goes wild, sacrifice that pagan |
| Cause it’s Coka, it’s going down |
| Do you want it by the kee, do you want it by the pound? |
| Yo it’s Coka, it’s going down |
| Do you want it by the kee, do you want it by the pound? |
| Yo it’s Coka, it’s going down |
| Do you want it by the kee, do you want it by the pound? |
| Yo it’s Coka, it’s going down |
| Do you want it by the kee, do you want it by the pound? |
| Yo it’s Coka |