Art of War

[Lynch Talking] Art of War nigga, (nigga get in) The art of war, (I know where he at) Dedicated to the niggas That feel they need to make a living off niggas You know, check it out [Brotha Lynch Hung] I smell pussy push me, I got a hard dick for killin' Go head and start shit wid the villain And get your heart split in a million pieces You need Jesus I can tell by your releases please He suck nuts for cheese somebody grease his knees If you suck nuts for a livin' trust me at least it's these Lynch haul all up in ya mouth tryna release the steam And you can rub it on like Visine And you can dub it all in high speed and watch that bitch nigga scream And it's nothin' it's no thing I hit the corner You was lucky and nosy nervous at the corner I woulda grabbed the body stabbed the body Then cut the body up like meat and eat 'em ganja leaves Grab the shotty and get away got away scott clean So you grab the body I'm in the Mozarotti Smashin' down I street, all the way from the jail house Gave it a chance and then I had to bail the hell out Tight shit but I don't wanna go through that Sittin' wid my celly like, how did I do that? See I had to leave 'em blue black, the fool's back Wid spits like jackler when ya runnin' wid two gats [Hook: scratching of these lines] "There's a war going on outside" "The way of life is the way of death" "Coming from the thirty six chambers" (x2) [Cos] Seems like I can't mash these days Cause everybody wanna try to blast C way Like everybody wanna pass these days But talk shit about my click we gon' blast these K's These niggas gay cats jay cats walkin' cross the street When we see 'em I'm mashin' like we on a race track These niggas way wack, they knew that since way back That's why when you gave me your shit it got no playback You niggas play rap, we be on that real tip We in the Source mag, we gain the ill tip And if y'all don't feel this, y'all must not feel shit Don't buy that nigga album man he a real bitch This nigga tryna make a dollar off my nig's shit Don't talk shit to gain fame that's some ill shit Come wid some real shit, and stop lyin' Cause you ain't never shot nobody and copped a diamond nigga Hook [Brotha Lynch] Slim love you well slim joke, you been broke Soon as these Blocc niggas find out ya M-O that's all she wrote Cause Blocc niggas don't fuck wid nut riders we rough riders Glock 'til they call me the truck driver I drive bodies down I-5 a, insane you's a damn shame You don't sell a damn thang to hoes, here's ya damn fame nigga See you's the same niiga that used to lick on the balls And hum when I had 'em in ya jaws ask D-E I wrap CD cases and put 'em on the shelf I told you motherfuckas I'll gi' you a lil' help Cause if I really had funk wid you, I wouldn't say shit Just spray shit, come get you, ya done dizzle All I gotta do is whistle and here comes the troops Siccmade niggas stompin' in steel toe boots We get paid quicker I know it hurts but it's the truth Pretty motherfucka I take out ya tooth Either that or watch the Uzi shake out the roof How you want it?, like Burger King I'm murderin' and his woman Trust me, it get tough out here Motherfuckers could end up in a trunk out here Can you feel it? Hook