| You know we got em
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| 45s, machine guns, heavy artillery
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| We got those grenades on your ass, nigga
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| Boss. |
| Black Wall Street
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| I’m in that bulletproof Maybach nigga (Teflon Don)
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| S Case
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| Nigga talking like a G but walking like a broad
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| I pull up at the light, pineapple in your car
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| Nigga I shatter lives, my music camouflage
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| My court killers at the center of my synagogue
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| Torch in hand, extortion to the Fortune 500
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| From the porches to the Porsches with the wides on it
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| 'Fore you snitches bitches, you better put your lives on it
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| Get you twisted by the with them wires on it
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| I get my money smoking spliffs like it’s Friday
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| I’m sitting sideways like I’m in my driveway
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| My champagne kicks, my shit 3 wheels
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| You niggas six feet, we getting 3 meals
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| They got jumped
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| 45s, machine guns, and heavy artillery
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| Yeah I got 2 gun charges, 2 felonies, just got off probation
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| Today motherfucker, won’t budge for no charge
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| Real nigga, I hold no grudge with no thugs
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| Come through spraying, bullets out the McLaren
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| They ain’t meant for you, so move bitch, you hard of hearing?
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| I speed off doing 90 with Tha Carter blaring
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| Bust shots in the Cavalier like I ball with Baron
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| Yeah I Blake Griff niggas, make stiff niggas
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| Eminem wasn’t Dr. Dre’s only sick nigga
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| Insane in the membrane like Soul Assassins
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| 12 gauge stop a nigga heart like a bowl of Aspirin
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| I hold automatics, let your man hold the casket
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| Murder game cold as Aspen, body found in the trash bin
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| First 48, they don’t find me, case closed
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| Like a rehabilitation spot in Bobby Brown nose
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| Take em back to Boyz in da Hood when I pull the pump out
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| Something like C-Murder on Worldstar when I dump out
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| Ain’t nothing changed but them bullets in my clip
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| I still pull it, still bully niggas on the strip
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| Beef, I cook it fully with the fifth
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| And I ain’t got no pets, I put a bullet in ya bitch
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| A nigga with a gun in his hand who won’t bust it?
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| Like a bitch with a dick in her hand who won’t suck it
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| This is the art of war, you niggas just drawing
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| Anything I target on is dearly departed, gone
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| Drive by or walk up on —
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| I just stop, breathe, aim cock squeeze
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| Silencer on the Glock, infrared beam
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| Put your block up on machines while the pussies run and scream |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Heavy Artillery , by - The Game. Song from the album The R.E.D. Album, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп