| We are dying, we are dying
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| Are we gonna die? |
| Are we gonna die?
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| We are dying
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| Light a blunt, throw on Nas, collect my thoughts
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| Blow the candles out as I contemplate in the dark
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| Dumpin' ashes on the fuckin' Time magazine
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| Tryna burn a hole between Israel and Palestine
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| All this world news, all these dead bodies
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| All these kids dying, the talk of illuminati
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| As I’m murderin' ink, I get a call from Irv Gotti
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| Say «Keep spittin' cause when you do it’s like a 12-gauge shotty
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| Got machetes and them cannons loaded up
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| Got them Xany’s and that lean in my cup
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| These politician’s can come up missin', I’m on a mission
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| You hear them gun shots, now mother fuckers listenin'
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| Feel that you can take their life cause they ain’t got a pot to piss in
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| Raise the Christian, kill you for these kids as victims
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| Fuck the system
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| You give a kid 30 cent and think you sponsor somethin'?
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| I feed a village by myself nigga Compton comin'
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| Purge
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| We are dying, we are dying
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| (Sometimes I wanna purge)
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| We are dying
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| (Sometimes I wanna purge)
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| We are dying, some times I gotta purge
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| (Sometimes I wanna)
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| We’re living on a purge
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| (Sometimes I wanna)
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| What if we ran through Beverley Hills, got 70 kills
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| Ridin' down Rodeo in the Chevy with pills
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| And pop one, load 12 slugs in the eagle
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| And shot one, Donald Sterling hopped in his Benz
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| I got one, beam on the back of his dome
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| Palm sweaty on the back of the chrome
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| That’s my adrenaline
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| So we purge Sandusky, purge Zimmerman
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| Purge every mother fucker rapin' women in
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| Purge niggas killin' kids, back to back in two vans
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| Me and my mercenaries, middle of South Sudan
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| Carryin' babies bodies, long as I got two hands
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| Long as I got two feet, millions and my crew deep
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| We purge for the families, they deaths ain’t in vein now
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| Crash my ass, niggas know who shot that plane down
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| 298 innocent lives severed
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| Flyin' on Aaliyah’s wings all the way to heaven
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| And so we Purge
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| Imagine going to the stores without cops harrasing
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| Imagine Mike Brown walkin', them same cops just passed 'em
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| I’m smokin' hash, and let me ash it before I talk in past tense
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| I hope his mama tears is like acid to your fuckin badges
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| 2 shots in his brain, 4 in his fashion
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| Thinkin' 'bout his casket in this Phantom, swear I almost crashed it
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| That’s why I’m headed to Ferguson with this German luger
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| Cause I’m probably more like Nelson Mandela than Martin Luther
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| More like Ice T than Ice Cube, I’m a cop killer
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| Murder all the cops, then the cops will probably stop killin'
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| On my knees prayin', wish my nigga Pac was livin'
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| But he fell victim to the Rampart Division, purge
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| Cops killed Biggie, cops beat up Rodney King
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| We tore up the city nigga, purge
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| Or just stand there like J. Cole and shoot at cops in the same spot till the
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| case closed, purge
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| This song is dedicated, to my engineer Jus' wife, Carey Jean who passed away
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| June 28th at 1.45 pm to stomach cancer, 2 days before his son Harlem’s 11th
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| birthday. |
| Crazy how he mournin' his wife’s death and I’m celebrating my son’s
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| life. |
| I’ll never understand death, shit. |
| Sometimes it’s a struggle to
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| understand life, shit crazy. |
| I’ll never understand. |
| Can’t stop fightin' to
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| survive though, but what we fightin' for when we eventually all die though,
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| purge. |
| Eventually we all victims of the purge. |
| Us killers, what’s keepin' us
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| alive. |
| It’s a question nobody got the answer to. |
| So PURGE! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Purge , by - The Game. Song from the album Blood Moon: Year Of The Wolf, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп