Intro (sampled):
|
|
Calling the police, calling the G men
|
Calling all americans to war on the underworld
|
|
All I need is money, and I'm getting that money tonight
|
|
Verse One: Lil' Fame
|
|
Let's take a slide through the ill side of town with this B-Boy
|
Watch out for Jakes, snakes and decoys
|
The streets keep you p-noid
|
Everyday's a new game, we do thangs for new thangs
|
This kid got stopped for like three G's and two chains
|
Yo, I know about these streets I was raised in
|
In my crib I heard villians outside blazin
|
Mad shots was poppin and, I see visions of droppin men
|
Five minutes later some nigga was sprawled out on Hopkinson
|
That's why this +Downtown Swinga+
|
Ruckus bringa be packin bangers
|
that make your whole shit out of clothes hangers
|
It's only one life to give in, get in where ya fit in
|
The fo'-fo' will cold push ya shit in
|
So keep ya gun breezed for fuckin with these New York Desperadoes
|
We'll bust open your head like avocadoes
|
Heavy artillery in my facility
|
For you snake ass ones I stick to my gunz
|
|
Chorus:
|
|
Yo what up? Ain't nothin; is it real? Yeah son
|
What's todays mathematics nigga? Stick to ya gunz!
|
What's the word? Ain't nothin; is it real? Yeah son
|
What's todays knowledge of self? Stick to ya gunz!
|
|
Verse Two: Billy Danze
|
|
The most beautifullest thing in the world is a fo'-fo' Desert Eagle
|
Nigga, THAT SHIT IS DIESEL!!
|
Lethal hollow point slugs bust through any object
|
Squeeze it at rapid fire, clear the whole projects
|
I ain't gonna be beefin or eyein you
|
Silently I move violently
|
Me, ain't no reliable see
|
I been chasin and lacin tough guys for days
|
Findin ways to erase em, and place em in the grave
|
If it happen the squad's cappin, I'm in the mix
|
And i'd rather be judged by twelve, than laid by six
|
My kind, on the front line still standin
|
Mr. Billy Danze, and I'll work you with a mini cannon
|
Holdin it down it's the drama lord
|
So you riff, you be lift and laid stiff as a fuckin board
|
Firin squad, niggaz on the run
|
Get props from top notch niggaz that ill bill, stick to they guns
|
|
Chorus: repeat 2X
|
|
Verse Three: Kool G. Rap
|
|
Aiyyo, I represent Queens, on crime scenes a murder machine
|
Put M-16's in niggaz spleens
|
So head for the hills, nigga cause when I get ill
|
it's blood spilled for real
|
I aim my fuckin steel and shoot to kill
|
So grab your bodyshield get ready for the duckin
|
The biscuit that I'm clutchin
|
Puffin like cess but that's the fuckin dutchman
|
Buckin at all you sucka cluckin niggaz that want the ruckus
|
We'll be three niggaz who's clappin but we ain't applaudin you motherfuckers
|
Keep my mack hid up under back, two shots to crack lids
|
Ain't gotta go rush to Toys R Us to get you Cabbage Patch Kids
|
Once I let the laser beams gleam and the red dots are seen,
|
Your whole team is gettin blown to smithereens
|
Queens on the motherfuckin map nigga we stay strapped
|
In fact I let a AK cap push your toupee back
|
Runnin with mad sons gunnin shit up and leave you hit up for the funds
|
Niggaz better stick to they guns
|
|
Chorus: repeat 2X
|
|
-----------------
|
Stick To Ya Gunz
|
M.O.P. |