The Purge

(album: Blood Moon: Year Of The Wolf - 2014)

[Stacy Barthe:]
We are dying, we are dying
Are we gonna die? Are we gonna die?
We are dying

Light a blunt, throw on Nas, collect my thoughts
Blow the candles out as I contemplate in the dark
Dumping ashes on the fucking Time magazine
Tryna burn a hole between Israel and Palestine
All this world news, all these dead bodies
All these kids dying, the talk of illuminati
As I'm murdering ink, I get a call from Irv Gotti
Say "Keep spitting cause when you do it's like a 12-gauge shotty
Got machetes and them cannons loaded up
Got them Xany's and that lean in my cup
These politician's can come up missing, I'm on a mission
You hear them gun shots, now mother fuckers listening
Feel that you can take their life cause they ain't got a pot to piss in
Raise the Christian, kill you for these kids as victims
Fuck the system
You give a kid 30 cent and think you sponsor somethin'?
I feed a village by myself nigga Compton coming
Purge

[Hook Stacy Barthe (Game):]
We are dying, we are dying
(Sometimes I wanna purge)
We are dying
(Sometimes I wanna purge)
We are dying, some times I gotta purge
(Sometimes I wanna)
We're living on a purge
(Sometimes I wanna)

What if we ran through Beverley Hills, got 70 kills
Riding down Rodeo in the Chevy with pills
And pop one, load 12 slugs in the eagle
And shot one, Donald Sterling hopped in his Benz
I got one, beam on the back of his dome
Palm sweaty on the back of the chrome
That's my adrenaline
So we purge Sandusky, purge Zimmerman
Purge every mother fucker raping women in
Purge niggas killing kids, back to back in two vans
Me and my mercenaries, middle of South Sudan
Carrying babies bodies, long as I got two hands
Long as I got two feet, millions and my crew deep
We purge for the families, they deaths ain't in vein now
Crash my ass, niggas know who shot that plane down
298 innocent lives severed
Flying on Aaliyah's wings all the way to heaven
And so we Purge

[Hook]

Imagine going to the stores without cops harrasing
Imagine Mike Brown walking, them same cops just passed 'em
I'm smoking hash, and let me ash it before I talk in past tense
I hope his mama tears is like acid to your fuckin badges
2 shots in his brain, 4 in his fashion
Thinking 'bout his casket in this Phantom, swear I almost crashed it
That's why I'm headed to Ferguson with this German luger
Cause I'm probably more like Nelson Mandela than Martin Luther
More like Ice T than Ice Cube, I'm a cop killer
Murder all the cops, then the cops will probably stop killing
On my knees praying, wish my nigga Pac was living
But he fell victim to the Rampart Division, purge
Cops killed Biggie, cops beat up Rodney King
We tore up the city nigga, purge
Or just stand there like J. Cole and shoot at cops in the same spot till the case closed, purge

[Hook]

This song is dedicated, to my engineer Jus' wife, Carey Jean who passed away June 28th at 1.45 pm to stomach cancer, 2 days before his son Harlem's 11th birthday. Crazy how he mourning his wife's death and I'm celebrating my son's life. I'll never understand death, shit. Sometimes it's a struggle to understand life, shit crazy. I'll never understand. Can't stop fighting to survive though, but what we fighting for when we eventually all die though, purge. Eventually we all victims of the purge. Us killers, what's keeping us alive. It's a question nobody got the answer to. So PURGE!