Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song War , by - Ultramagnetic MC's. Song from the album The Best Kept Secret, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 08.01.2007
Record label: DMAFT
Song language: English
War |
| Uhh, this real New York shit right here man |
| You already know |
| Kool Keith, Gee-Banga let’s go |
| (Ced Gee, Ultra, uhh) |
| Uhh, uhh, yo, yo |
| I wanted keys in my collection, so I loaded bullets in my weapon |
| Put on my gear, gun in my hand, prepare for this 187 |
| See I’m a hustler, not a murderer |
| But if you get on my fuckin nerves then I’m gon' have to murder ya |
| Badder than stores that’s from the Saudia |
| Pull out my tec, gunnin yout neck execution style and just slaughter ya |
| Cookin them cracks that you be coughin up |
| Really don’t give a fuck about family or who you the son of daughter of |
| You gon' really make me have to torture ya |
| But that’s my second name in the hood, you can call me the extortion |
| G to the Danger is the enforcer of, G.K.B |
| And gangster shit that the streets could ever offer ya |
| I always been less fortunate; |
| so I fuck bitches |
| Party and drink and blow that sticky to get up off of it |
| When in reality you the talk of it |
| So don’t be surprised me cock back and be demandin you take off your shit |
| This is war, son you know we always packin that 4 |
| And we puttin bullets straight through your door |
| Plus we stayin on point cause we don’t wanna fall |
| If you get caught slippin you’ll get killed for sure — brrrap! |
| This is war, son you know we always packin that 4 |
| And we puttin bullets straight through your door |
| Plus we stayin on point cause we don’t wanna fall |
| If you get caught slippin you’ll get killed for sure |
| I’m international, worldwide traveller beyond that block shit |
| You hear about it, y’all can’t avoid it when I drop shit |
| It’s like takin a fat-ass sumo wrestler out with a dropkick |
| You get they rap careers started, my job is stop shit |
| Piss on anything y’all spit |
| Door #1, I can play Bob, Barker |
| Your bitch can’t bid here |
| Better stay with the cock she picked, with sauce on her lip boss |
| I fuck up your lip gloss |
| Get your handicap games out nigga, cause you gonna limp across |
| Like a slow man in the street |
| Y’all niggas put up your umbrellas up |
| Nobody wanna fuck with my sunstroke heat |
| That’s on the strength~! |
| After you leave, the car wash |
| I shit on top of your Cherokee Jeep |
| When I knock on the door |
| Niggas play like they not home, cause they scared to speak! |
| Sleepin under beds, wrapped up in fuckin sheets! |
| Sega Genesah nigga we finish a nigga |
| Yeah, check it |
| Dawg you cross me, you might as well take your own life |
| See I ain’t takin no prisoners son, I’m even murderin your wife |
| Slaughterin all your kids, yeah, I’m that trife |
| Then sit down listen to your rep and give a thorough sermon |
| About the wrath of Christ |
| Drink some hot cocoa, sleep well that night |
| Then wake up in the mornin, and write some Ultra elevation |
| Do a show in Italy dawg, then listen to a standin ovation |
| Make a couple of songs in Haitian |
| Spanish and Japanese, bee-da-dong-yong |
| I’m great son, make no mistake son |
| You sleep on me all you want, and I bet you they find yo' ass in a lake son |
| This is war… |
| This is war… |
| This is war… |