 |
|
4:06 | 
|
||
|
from Lupe Fiasco - Lupe Fiasco's The Cool (2007)
(Intro - Lupe Fiasco Sample)
Now little Terry got a gun he got from the store He bought it with the money he got from his chores He robbed the candy shop told 'em lay down on the floor Put the cookies in the bag; take the pennies out the drawer Little Khalil got a gun he got from the rebels To kill the infidels and American devils A bomb on his waist, a mask on his face Prays five times a day and listens to heavy metal Little Alex got a gun he took from his dad That he snuck in the school in his black book bag His black nail polish, black boots and black hair He gon' blow away the bully that just pushed his ass (Verse One: Lupe Fiasco) I killed another man today Shot him in his back as he ran away Then I blew up his hut with a hand grenade Cut his wife throat as she put her hands to pray Just five more dogs, then we can get a soccer ball That's what my commander say How old? Well, I'm like 10, 11 Been fightin' since I was like six or seven Now I don't know much about where I'm from But I know I strike fear everywhere I come Government want me dead, so I wear my gun I really want the rocket launcher, but I'm still too young This cannon give me courage not to fear no one To feel no pain and hear no tongue So I hear no screams and I shed no tear If I'm in your dreams, then your end is near (Chorus: Nikki Jean) Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We're calling you There's a war, but the guns are just too tall for you We'll find you something small to use Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We need you now (Verse Two: Lupe Fiasco) Now here comes the march of the boy brigade A macabre parade of the toys he made And shemaghs and shades who look half his age About half the size of the flags they wave And camouflaged suits made to fit youths 'Cause the ones off the dead soldiers hang a little loose With AK-47's that they shootin' into heaven Like they tryin' to kill the Jetsons It's Struggle's little recruits Cute, smileless, heartless, violent Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish ways Can't write they own names or read the words that's on they own graves Think you, gangsta? Popped a few rounds? These kids'll come through and murder a whole town Then sit back and smoke and watch it burn down The grave gets deeper the further we go down (Chorus: Nikki Jean) Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We're calling you There's a war, but the guns are just too tall for you We'll find you something small to use Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We need you now (Verse Three: Bishop G) Imagine if I had to console the families Of those slain I slayed on game consoles I aim, I hold, right trigger to squeeze Press “up,” then “Y,” one less nigga breathe “B” for the bombs, press “pause” for your moms Make the room silent, she don't approve of violent games She leave, resume activity Start and blow hearts apart, sharp wizardry Next part, I insert code to sweeten up The little person's murder workload I tell 'em they work for CIA with a A operative, I operate this game all day I hold the controller connected to the soldier with weapons on the shoulder He's only seconds older than me My playful but serious Now keep that online for online experience (Chorus: Nikki Jean) Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We're calling you There's a war, but the guns are just too tall for you We'll find you something small to use Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon We need you now |
|||||
|
