| Softly as if I played piano in the dark | 
| Found a way to channel my anger now to embark | 
| The world’s a stage and everybody’s got to play their part | 
| God… with the signal clear as day | 
| Put my Glock, put my Glock away I got a stronger weapon | 
| That never runs out of ammunition so I’m ready for war, okay | 
| Put my Glock away I got a stronger weapon | 
| That never runs out of ammunition so I’m ready for war, okay | 
| Put my Glock away I got a stronger weapon | 
| That never runs out of ammunition so I’m ready for war, okay | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| War ready, your boys lost already | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| War ready, your boys lost already | 
| My bitch look like Mona Lisa | 
| Hammers busting like a soda in the freezer | 
| Think of heading to Ibiza | 
| Need a breather from the tripping | 
| Either that or my brains to the ceiling | 
| Bite the bullet, tryna fight the feeling | 
| Fuck around and pull it, push it to the limit | 
| Ain’t a thang to a G | 
| Life give you lemons, nigga hang from a tree | 
| Cold game all came in a dream | 
| Woke up feeling like the walls caved in | 
| Fought to the death, never gave in | 
| Write that on the grave that I get laid in | 
| Heaven, Hell, free or jail, same shit | 
| County jail bus, slave ship, same shit | 
| A wise man once said that a black man better off dead | 
| So I’m, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| War ready, your boys lost already | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| Born ready, war-ready | 
| War ready, your boys lost already | 
| Learned the power of words when we was younger | 
| Saying fuck the sign on his curb can make him hunt you | 
| Turned the African into a nigga then they hung him | 
| Said it earlier in the verse, sometimes I wonder | 
| Who the activist and who the Devil’s advocate | 
| Or do it matter? | 
| Shit | 
| They only fucking with the rapper if the rapper rich | 
| Or got a platinum hit | 
| A chain or two | 
| Seem the music interchangeable | 
| Raging bull, what you headed for? | 
| Heaven doors, or hell below | 
| I write directions for the road to let you know | 
| Edgar Allen Poe | 
| Tried to warn 'em of demise and all he seen was crows | 
| Feel for 'em, words, we kill for 'em | 
| Leave the bitchin' to the birds, we still war’n | 
| Born ready, you boys lost already | 
| All in 'til the lord get me | 
| Put my Glock away I got a stronger weapon | 
| That never runs out of ammunition so I’m ready for war, okay |