Verse One: Pharoahe Monche
|
|
Let the trigger finger put the pressure to the mechanism
|
Which gives a response, for the automatic *bang*
|
Clip to release projectiles in single
|
file forcing me to ignite then travel
|
through the barrel, headed for the light
|
At the end of a tunnel, with no specific target in sight
|
Slow the flow like H2O water
|
Visualize, the scene of a homicide, a slaughter
|
No remorse for the course I take when you pull it
|
The result's a stray bullet
|
Niggaz who knew hit the ground runnin and stay down
|
Except for the kids who played on the playground
|
Cause for some little girl she'll never see
|
more than six years of life, trif-le-ing
|
When she fell from the seesaw
|
But umm wait, my course isn't over
|
Fled out of the other side of her head towards
|
a red, Range, Rover, then I ricochet
|
Fast past a brother's ass, oh damn, what that nigga say
|
"Aww fuck it", next target's Margaret's face *bang*
|
and I struck it
|
Now it's a flood of blood in circumfrence to her face
|
and an abundance of brains all over the street
|
Shame how we had to meet *bang*
|
Dashin, buckin, greet by fuckin family
|
They follow behind me in a orderly fashion
|
Bashin through flesh I'm wild
|
Crashin through the doors of projects hallways
|
to deflect off of the tile
|
I'm coming for you little girl
|
Once inside I shatter your world
|
Swirl, no more dreams no hopes when I spray
|
You better pray, to the Pope or the Vatican
|
Before I go rat-tat-a-tat again
|
I'm mad again brother somebody's mother will be sad again
|
but, whose blue skies will turn grey
|
from the attack, of the Mac-11, I'm a stray, bullet
|
|
[Nobody seen shit, nobody heard it -- 4X]
|
|
Verse Two: Prince Poetry
|
|
Gun balls of fire, I'm travelling at higher speeds
|
to proceed to penetrate flesh, hitting the splint
|
after splitting the chest of a Queens fiend
|
Age of pagers shredded to pieces from the Glock 9
|
and it's hollow tips, it releases the polices
|
in back of the ambulance
|
Blood loss as I shift across your chest
|
Arrest, rupture, I mess up ya, slasher
|
shall I bust ya liver, faster, blood pours *bang*
|
Now it's up to the master, boom, as I crash open the doors
|
Thank me for spraying the operating room
|
The body still consumes me, doc had to remove me
|
Mmm lord, why do they use me? *bang*
|
I'm takin individual for keeps Hobbes
|
so peep the cops, in the ghetto bustin shots for props
|
And when I hit, shit *bang bang bang bang*
|
Soon you forgets-me-not
|
Cops tried to explain to his pops what I done
|
I flip up the hollow tipper and I'm not the one
|
And as a human I'm the surprising one
|
Prince Po I flow the ripper, either way
|
you never, ever know how I'm coming
|
Metamorphasizing, rising in turbulence
|
Condensed into a bullet, pull it, now I'm making moves
|
With no sympathizing, uhh, so take a hit nigga, sprint *bang*
|
Onto the scenario, I'm at a party with O
|
A lot of honies parlay and the DJ's playin the Fudge Pudge flow
|
Five niggaz come up in the club for a rub
|
[Yo O peep it, oh shit O duck (oh shit!, oh shit!)
|
*pop pop pop pop pop* *woman screams*]
|
Another hit, another struck
|
Here comes Mr. Stray Bullet
|
Five, the tip, getting my jollies from the screams of the ripped
|
in your chest, then I flip
|
Nip your liver, blood flowin like a river
|
Money starts to shiver then I give a delivery of burns
|
Bruises fake shoes is your renaissance
|
No response your moms is out cold
|
Figure I'm bigger takin your heart nigga at twenty years old
|
Stray Bullet
|
|
-----------------
|
Stray Bullet
|
| Organized Konfusion |