Westside Connection - Call 9-11 | Текст песни

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• Westside Connection
• Call 9-11

This right here is considered a banger
Delivered With anger, your life is in danger
Beware of them strangers, holdin' them flamers
Them naggers were swagger, cause they keep it gangsta

Just face it, I blaze shit
Yo shit is basic, my shit is matrix
Make you erase shit
Niggas won't say shit, but DJs you ain't shit
Cause you don't play shit, unless it's that gay shit
I'm straight off the slave ship, my style is ancient
I'm rich and I'm famous, I'm armed, I'm dangerous
I came wit that language, it's mad, it's brainless
You study at Cambridge, I'm fuckin' yo main bitch
Plus my ebonics is full, of gin and tonic, erotic
Yeah you got it, hypnotic, plus I got it, brrr
After nine eleven niggas got patriotic
On nine twelve I'm like fuck it nigga blaze the chronic

Call nine eleven, then call your reverend
Then call heaven, here I come lord
Live by the gun, die by the gun
A eye for an eye when you live and die by this war

Yeah, now it's the mornin' after the night I just rolled
9-1-1 ain't a area code it's a gangsta mode
And I'm still in amazement on how I put it down
Emptied round after round rat-tat-tat was the sound
Now understand the situation, it was urgent
We, handled this emergency urgently
I can't just have no nigga out there just workin' me, jerkin' me
Talkin' all kind of shit, dishing dirt on me, shit
He was a local nigga sheisty and didn't wanna pay up
So I got dressed in all black and loaded the K up
And all I could think about is revenge as I lit the J up
And even though it was late night, I still fucked his whole day up
It was child's play, the youngster took me for a joke
Not knowin' Mack a maniac and I love the gun smoke
Make sparks in my barrel, shit flew through his apparel
Stupid motherfucker lost his life over dinero

It ain't safe no fuckin' mo'
I swear on everything I love, my hood, my momma, my soul
This motherfuckin' Dub, is hall of bang nigga, I claim nigga
Like PCP to the brain, it's like kel running my fame nigga
White lightnin' I'm sippin', snickerin', slippin' the crip
And like a fiend, I tremble, shiver and them blow your doam to smithereens
Act up, no actor, starch crease ragger
Dick harder than Viagra, Dub push your ick backwards
Connect alumni, but the gun high
Bloods and crips and when we touch down we turn niggas hoods 'til the guy
says grip
Squeeze lead, to the y'all dead, cause I'm fucked up in the can and I
Fuck a bitch over whether she can blew or all red
The industry most hated, nigga get at us, we ready, Dub, Mack and Cube
Like Saddam, Bin Laden and no jag in the Chevy
Back again, momma there go that man again
Grab the gun, them niggas on one
Call 9-1-1

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