KRAYZIE BONE featuring The Graveyard Shift
Silence is neccessary, don't tell them who you are.
Formulate a different tactic. Let's sing anthems. No stereotypical
categorizin', rising above all make-shift realities. Fantasies misconstrued
the thoughts of wicked men. They cough as lungs inhale; exhale poisonous
gases. Oh well, I guess I'll just protect myself and good health.
Done played out the wickedest hand man has ever dealt. I
felt like dyin' just the other day, 'cause Satan was tryin'. Walkin'
too close by my side. Stay still. Please don't move!
Your soul you could lose. No cryin', where's my
blood? You'll find out soon enough. All right, I'll
ride. In due time, we'll get our chance to die. Hold
on to my mind. No use for guns or drugs, need more
love. But yet and still, slugs gets fired off constantly.
Immorally, destroyin' my holy oracle, but I just ignore it
though. Keep a steady pace, just movin' slow, slow. Just
Silence, silence, silence, silence . . .
As I sit in my livin' room chillin' in my thug mood, I begin to hear noises comin' from the other room. So I paused my Nintendo. Then, I walk over to the window. Is it paranoia from the indo? Then goes a thought, then another thought: run and get the pump. Who goes there? What the fuck you want? 'Cause I'll gone off that bud, and I'm a buck a muthafucka down. You on my grounds. Hope they got enough of rounds. All of a sudden, I heard a crash. My first instincts was to blast, but the Mossberg didn't last. So I had to dash, ran upstairs I was frantic and panicked, but I managed to make it to the top to my artillery shop. I was runnin', but I could hear the (?) comin'. I don't know why--must think I got some money. AK-47 and a MAC-11. Jettin' to the bedroom, locked myself in; the clip was in. Teach 'em a lesson: it ain't healthy to rob. They fin to slip on the job, soon as they twist on the knob. Just like I figured, when they twisted it, the AK-47 was hot! I had to drop it, but I emptied it. The MAC-11 would hit, it hit the niggas up from head to toe. Only escape, and I was out the window, here I go. I hit the ground, uh! Then I looked around, shook the fall, hopped in the Benz and hauled. Callin' my niggas, let's get ready for war! I think I killed 'em all, but I know the devil sendin' some more. So when they come back around, I say we show 'em rappin' don't mean a thing. And this is a gun, and this is a grave. Rest in peace, you're not feelin' me. Truly, Mr. Leatherface. I'll dedicate this.
Silence, silence, silence, silence.
Fight, movin' in the night [Watch out!]. Daylight, takin' slow paces might outrun the race. Never wanna rely on murda, enter my life, but life's so strange and hectic. All backwards, it's shelled, the killin' factor in jail. The streets is hell. You can tell by the smell. Off with his head, oh well! You know they don't give a damn if that make the weak mind feel the same. It's a shame how they watch you, stalk you; pinnin' every step I make, knowin' every breath I take. Makin' it easy for the next man to get his hands on a thirty-eight. They be buckin' on niggas in these last days, but thanks for the fun! Can't stay focused, causin' ruckus. The devil done played with the earth like a puppet, now we all in fucked shit. That's why silence is necessary, don't tell 'em who you are by far. Don't you tell them who you are.
Silence is necessary, don't tell them who you are.
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WasteLand Lyrics: The Art of Bone.
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