Gun

(albüm: Dirty Acres - 2007)

"No one held a gun", what you lying for?
Then tell me how somebody got left lying cold
"Gun", heard the 45's let go
Next week somebody's riding slow
"Gun", what you lying for?
Then tell me how somebody got left lying cold
"Gun", somebody that you or I must know
And next week somebody's riding slow
"No one held a gun"

Check it out, uh, it's hard to get 'em to freeze
A hundred-twenty-three degrees and the breeze
Is full of glass particles that blast hard at you
Show us your hands and show us the plans
The weapon's biological so show us the cans
We got a tip from snitches for ballistic positions
Don't wanna listen? We putting these missile tips in ya kitchen
We got the ether for Haditha, the sutures for Fallujah
State police force suits and boots is in ya future
Won't loosen the nooses, put ya dick in the ground
Chief of police is tired of all this Roving and Dicking around
Goose chasing like ridiculous clowns
But the American public's lustin an evil puppet so fuck it
He says he has a wallet, I say he has a gun
Reagan gave him both back in 1981
Now we back with a badge just to grab all the funds
Buckin forty-one at you and your sons, yeah

"No one held a gun", what you lying for?
Then tell me how somebody got left lying cold
"Gun", heard the 45's let go
Next week somebody's riding slow
"Gun", what you lying for?
Then tell me how somebody got left lying cold
"Gun", somebody that you or I must know
And next week somebody's riding slow
"No one held a gun"

Yeah, they got, the eye of Jesus sittin on the skies of Giza
They lie and freeze us in our time of leisure
Hermapha, a Bush and Dick on every Condoleezza
Nigga, y'all eye the skeezers, I eye the Caesars, haha
And I ain't talk bout the place you play Blackjack
But CIA headquarters where they make the crack at
The CIA headquarters where they make the gats at
The real School of Rock crack, fuck that cracker Jack Black
Police force got Tenacious D
Pull you over for your plates, place an eighth of C
Then, that eighth of C will have you placed on the sea
Alcatraz or Guantanamo, aching to see
They, they lock you up in a cell with no lights in it
Feed a nigga white bread with no fucking life in it
No toilet bowl, just a hole so you can wipe in it
A tormented soul till you grow old and ripe in it
Play your hand till the right suit fold
Bin Laden got Bush in a knight suit mode
Most niggas that I know like Nike swoosh gold
Wipin twenty-inch vogues on a white coupe Old
Diallo, forty-one shots, nineteen hits
In a dark hallway make the light seem lit
I guess they saw a rapist on white cream tits
Don't pull your wallet out nigga, run
These motherfuckers got guns