Lyrics:
to destroy in the name of Allah.
Like the mustard gas he launched upon us during Desert Storm,
Arming a million citizens with guns preparing them to kill,
mouth is like a gun
verbal ammunition on a mission of fun
wishing it would rain cause I'm hotter than the sun
my style is the toast and my voice is
a greater man except Jesus
Who can touch me, bet a hundred thou' you couldn't bust me
The original Likwit rough rhymer
Protected by the gat and bandana, who
rien par le zen, en mode ranno parisienne, en mode vroum-vroum
Drive by moteur puissant en mode flaque de sang gp800
Sors un gun ou un tampon si t'es
Of every lonely Christmas
In the ghetto
We could still hear the load guns
And the government
They don't give a fuck about us us
Deporting all
Pirus.
L.A., Denver Lanes; there's more in Pasadena.
Avenues, Blood Stone, Inglewood family.
The Pueblos, Blood Stone Villians, Black P. Stone,
Circle
kept
Something that is done when you live by the gun
Get down, the shots went bang
It wasn't planned this way, just meet my demand
And things will go
morning waitin' for these ladies to come
No guns, nothin' but fun, one love underneath the Sun
See it's not where you from but how you kick it
Remember
Nachdem die getönten scheiben runtergehen
Hol' ich die scheiben runter vom laden
Drive-by aus dem schwarzen jeep
Welcher Hurensohn will mit den Kurden
Nase
Nachdem die getönten Scheiben runtergehen
Hol' ich die Scheiben runter vom Laden
Drive-by aus dem schwarzen Jeep
Welcher Hurensohn will mit den
Mad it is you know to think you are
Hardcore as the guys in L.A. are
Well, my pal, you don't need all that hardcore
Yo motherfucker, you know what's
go, giocanna eyes low
Two-way E, tell 'em to meet us at Roscoes
Ball til I Fall, that's my motto
In LA, NY even in Flo
Sittin on 'tractin rims
wit'
front, back, side to side
Rolling back home looking clean and mean
Armor-All on my tires bumping a cut by Al Green
Stopped at my homey South Central
remains in
The brain of the LA zoo
Crooked cops and the government
Set the blueprint
For the gunmen, the black and the SN Goons
It's the life of the trife
niggas from The Deuce
I was raised by the streets
It's a LA summer, we in Waikiki
Thank God for another summer
I'm still alive and I fuckin' love it
Seen
options
Shit I'm better by myself
This nigga told and that nigga told, too
When the pressure really on, these
"tough niggas" gon fold, Too
Gang allegations,
with poodle bacon
And piss on his spliff
Sorry if your dog is hanging
By his collar now
I guess that's just what… life is all about
Kill timе with
true say the opps gotta agree by now
Our block still winnin' awards like Federer
There ain't no back and forth in it like Nadal
The opp boys bored,
(Trip)
(Brr)
(Beats it by Ghost)
(Wouh)
Musibet, musibet
Hata yap, kusur et, yaşanır husumet
Geceler pusu hep, bu kalem bücür hep
Durmadan hücum et,
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