Ghetto Zone

(albüm: Dog Beats - 1991)

They got Uzis, they got shotguns, they got explosives
They got access to any kind of weapon they want within 24 hours
We got over 50,000 gangbangers out there

Violent J serving ghetto hard street shit
You know it's potent when the funky-ass beat hits
Rolling the dice and we's hitting point
("ICP!") out of Southwest Detroit
Running with a gang of twenty street hoods
Hookers on my back, 'cause I'm selling them cheap goods
Looking through the motherfucking alleyway
They can't catch Violent-Crazy-Ass-Psychopath J
But I guess I wasn't so crazy this time
Now I'm chilling in the back of Car 49
You ask why I'm gripping that metal
They put a man on the moon, but can't do shit for the ghetto
I look at all that and it makes me sick
I wanna grab them motherfuckers, make 'em swallow a brick
So I grab anybody I can find
Beat a fiend in the head with a God damn stop sign
Flex one of us and I'ma find you
Bullet rips through your chest and hits a bitch behind you
Killed two birds with one stone
You're laying in the street with a bullet in your dome
And to them hillbillies listening down South
Talk shit about the city with my nuts in your wife's mouth
And keep stringing on your banjo
'Cause we don't like that shit where I come from, bro
Now the ICP stands alone
In the Southwest Ghetto Zone

Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home
"Ah, for Christ's sake!"
"Ah, you don't talk about that garbage out here."
"That's for the hell-hole where you come from."
Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home
"This is the good part of town."
"We let you deal with that type of bullshit."
"Your problems don't concern us."
"Go home now, well go on!"

Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home's home
The cops just don't know what to do
Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home's home
The cops just don't know what to do
Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home's home
The cops just don't know what to do
Southwest Detroit, is the demented one's home's home
The cops just don't know what to do

Jumpsteady, Rude Boy, and the BSR
They got my back, O.G., you won't make it far
I got my nine in my gut and it's starting to hurt
Where can you keep a gat wearing Skidz and a t-shirt?
Now I'm roaming like a true ghetto thug
Fiends on the sack 'cause I'm booming that crack
"I know you heard aloud what J said"
When I told you that I sold to your bitch, that basehead
No, you can't argue with the truth
If I hit you in your mouth, you're gonna spit out a tooth
And I laugh at a mother fucking cop
Sitting' with his fat ass in a donut shop
At the party, when the ICP shows their face
Billy clubs and handcuffs all over the place
"We're here to protect and protect we do"
Then I ask who the fuck protects us from you?
Cops always beating on someone
Shot a mute in the back, he told him not to run
And the mother fucking Black Panthers know it
That's why it's cops now that are catching a bullet
I'm running, I'm running, we'll end the chase
When Jumpsteady puts his gauge in your mother fucking face
Mind your own
In the Southwest Ghetto Zone

Hey yo, G!
Man, who the fuck you think you are, man?
You know who you're fucking with?
The I-C motherfucking P, G!
So if I was you, I'd step the fuck off before you get shot, boy
Keep running your lips, see what happens mother fucker
Yeah, G! See what I'm saying, though?
Now what's up with that shit?

Come to Del Ray, a driveby ain't shit
The cops just don't know what to do
Come to Del Ray, a driveby ain't shit
The cops just don't know what to do
Come to Del Ray, a driveby ain't shit
The cops just don't know what to do
Come to Del Ray, a driveby ain't shit
The cops just don't know what to do

"These are my homeboys, vato."
"See, our homies here is all we have, man."
"I love them."
"They love me back, man."
"We barrio."

So I guess I'm a bad guy
'Cause I cuss a lot, I say "fuck" a lot
And I rap to tell you how I'm feeling
When I'm in the old spot, sit up and we wheeling
Through Delray, call it Hellray
It's where the ICP stay ("Yo J!")
And the fools that always talk shit get beat
And if I'm outnumbered, I gots a gauge in the backseat
'Cause when I'm feeling like a mack dad
In the trunk of my ride, I got weapons that I never had
A thousand mother fuckers in the back make the car sag
Rodney's fat ass makes the whole damn muffler drag
Rapping to a sack-chasing hottie
I told the bitch I ain't never even seen a Maserati
Ever sell out to a freak? ("Fuck no!")
That why I'll tell you that I love to box with a ho
When the check comes I ignore it
And the bitch is gonna ask me to fucking pay for it
I gave the ho an empty 12-pack
Take your ass to the store and bring some Faygo back
That's all I'll pay for bitch, now get the fuck on, ho
Stick around I got something you can suck on, ho
Violent J won't be ganked
By no nappy-headed, bare-footed, crack-headed sewer skank
You gotta handle your own
In the Southwest Ghetto Zone

The cops just don't know what to do ("Yeah")
[?] destruction
The cops just don't know what to do ("ICP")
The cops just don't know what to do
[?] destruction
The cops just don't know what to do

And to all the sects running in Southwest Detroit
Good luck and stay strong
Latin Counts
Young Guns
CFP
X-men
To the Cobras
And DT
ICP

They got Uzis
They got shotguns
They got explosives
They got shotguns
They got Uzis
They got shotguns
They got explosives
They got shotguns
They got Uzis
They got shotguns
They got explosives
They got shotguns
They got Uzis
They got shotguns
They got explosives
They got shotguns
They got Uzis