| Song | Stray Bullet |
| Artist | Organized Konfusion |
| Album | Stress: The Extinction Agenda |
| 作词 : Monch, Prince Po | |
| Verse one：pharoahe monche | |
| Let the trigger finger put the pressure to the mechanism | |
| Which gives a response, for the automatic *bang* | |
| Clip to release projectiles in single | |
| File forcing me to ignite then travel | |
| Through the barrel, headed for the light | |
| At the end of a tunnel, with no specific target in sight | |
| Slow the flow like h2o water | |
| Visualize, the scene of a homicide, a slaughter | |
| No remorse for the course i take when you pull it | |
| The result's a stray bullet | |
| Niggaz who knew hit the ground runnin and stay down | |
| Except for the kids who played on the playground | |
| Cause for some little girl she'll never see | |
| More than six years of life, trif-le-ing | |
| When she fell from the seesaw | |
| But umm wait, my course isn't over | |
| Fled out of the other side of her head towards | |
| A red, range, rover, then i ricochet | |
| Fast past a brother's ass, oh damn, what that nigga say | |
| "aww fuck it", next target's margaret's face *bang* | |
| And i struck it | |
| Now it's a flood of blood in circumfrence to her face | |
| And an abundance of brains all over the street | |
| Shame how we had to meet *bang* | |
| Dashin, buckin, greet by fuckin family | |
| They follow behind me in a orderly fashion | |
| Bashin through flesh i'm wild | |
| Crashin through the doors of projects hallways | |
| To deflect off of the tile | |
| I'm coming for you little girl | |
| Once inside i shatter your world | |
| Swirl, no more dreams no hopes when i spray | |
| You better pray, to the pope or the vatican | |
| Before i go rat-tat-a-tat again | |
| I'm mad again brother somebody's mother will be sad again | |
| But, whose blue skies will turn grey | |
| From the attack, of the mac-11, i'm a stray, bullet | |
| [nobody seen shit, nobody heard it -- 4x] | |
| Verse two: prince poetry | |
| Gun balls of fire, i'm travelling at higher speeds | |
| To proceed to penetrate flesh, hitting the splint | |
| After splitting the chest of a queens fiend | |
| Age of pagers shredded to pieces from the glock 9 | |
| And it's hollow tips, it releases the polices | |
| In back of the ambulance | |
| Blood loss as i shift across your chest | |
| Arrest, rupture, i mess up ya, slasher | |
| Shall i bust ya liver, faster, blood pours *bang* | |
| Now it's up to the master, boom, as i crash open the doors | |
| Thank me for spraying the operating room | |
| The body still consumes me, doc had to remove me | |
| Mmm lord, why do they use me? *bang* | |
| I'm takin individual for keeps hobbes | |
| So peep the cops, in the ghetto bustin shots for props | |
| And when i hit, shit *bang bang bang bang* | |
| Soon you forgets-me-not | |
| Cops tried to explain to his pops what i done | |
| I flip up the hollow tipper and i'm not the one | |
| And as a human i'm the surprising one | |
| Prince po i flow the ripper, either way | |
| You never, ever know how i'm coming | |
| Metamorphasizing, rising in turbulence | |
| Condensed into a bullet, pull it, now i'm making moves | |
| With no sympathizing, uhh, so take a hit nigga, sprint *bang* | |
| Onto the scenario, i'm at a party with o | |
| A lot of honies parlay and the dj's playin the fudge pudge flow | |
| Five niggaz come up in the club for a rub | |
| [yo o peep it, oh shit o duck (oh shit!, oh shit!) | |
| *pop pop pop pop pop* *woman screams*] | |
| Another hit, another struck | |
| Here comes mr. stray bullet | |
| Five, the tip, getting my jollies from the screams of the ripped | |
| In your chest, then i flip | |
| Nip your liver, blood flowin like a river | |
| Money starts to shiver then i give a delivery of burns | |
| Bruises fake shoes is your renaissance | |
| No response your moms is out cold | |
| Figure i'm bigger takin your heart nigga at twenty years old | |
| Stray bullet |
| zuò cí : Monch, Prince Po | |
| Verse one: pharoahe monche | |
| Let the trigger finger put the pressure to the mechanism | |
| Which gives a response, for the automatic bang | |
| Clip to release projectiles in single | |
| File forcing me to ignite then travel | |
| Through the barrel, headed for the light | |
| At the end of a tunnel, with no specific target in sight | |
| Slow the flow like h2o water | |
| Visualize, the scene of a homicide, a slaughter | |
| No remorse for the course i take when you pull it | |
| The result' s a stray bullet | |
| Niggaz who knew hit the ground runnin and stay down | |
| Except for the kids who played on the playground | |
| Cause for some little girl she' ll never see | |
| More than six years of life, trifleing | |
| When she fell from the seesaw | |
| But umm wait, my course isn' t over | |
| Fled out of the other side of her head towards | |
| A red, range, rover, then i ricochet | |
| Fast past a brother' s ass, oh damn, what that nigga say | |
| " aww fuck it", next target' s margaret' s face bang | |
| And i struck it | |
| Now it' s a flood of blood in circumfrence to her face | |
| And an abundance of brains all over the street | |
| Shame how we had to meet bang | |
| Dashin, buckin, greet by fuckin family | |
| They follow behind me in a orderly fashion | |
| Bashin through flesh i' m wild | |
| Crashin through the doors of projects hallways | |
| To deflect off of the tile | |
| I' m coming for you little girl | |
| Once inside i shatter your world | |
| Swirl, no more dreams no hopes when i spray | |
| You better pray, to the pope or the vatican | |
| Before i go rattatatat again | |
| I' m mad again brother somebody' s mother will be sad again | |
| But, whose blue skies will turn grey | |
| From the attack, of the mac11, i' m a stray, bullet | |
| nobody seen shit, nobody heard it 4x | |
| Verse two: prince poetry | |
| Gun balls of fire, i' m travelling at higher speeds | |
| To proceed to penetrate flesh, hitting the splint | |
| After splitting the chest of a queens fiend | |
| Age of pagers shredded to pieces from the glock 9 | |
| And it' s hollow tips, it releases the polices | |
| In back of the ambulance | |
| Blood loss as i shift across your chest | |
| Arrest, rupture, i mess up ya, slasher | |
| Shall i bust ya liver, faster, blood pours bang | |
| Now it' s up to the master, boom, as i crash open the doors | |
| Thank me for spraying the operating room | |
| The body still consumes me, doc had to remove me | |
| Mmm lord, why do they use me? bang | |
| I' m takin individual for keeps hobbes | |
| So peep the cops, in the ghetto bustin shots for props | |
| And when i hit, shit bang bang bang bang | |
| Soon you forgetsmenot | |
| Cops tried to explain to his pops what i done | |
| I flip up the hollow tipper and i' m not the one | |
| And as a human i' m the surprising one | |
| Prince po i flow the ripper, either way | |
| You never, ever know how i' m coming | |
| Metamorphasizing, rising in turbulence | |
| Condensed into a bullet, pull it, now i' m making moves | |
| With no sympathizing, uhh, so take a hit nigga, sprint bang | |
| Onto the scenario, i' m at a party with o | |
| A lot of honies parlay and the dj' s playin the fudge pudge flow | |
| Five niggaz come up in the club for a rub | |
| yo o peep it, oh shit o duck oh shit!, oh shit! | |
| pop pop pop pop pop woman screams | |
| Another hit, another struck | |
| Here comes mr. stray bullet | |
| Five, the tip, getting my jollies from the screams of the ripped | |
| In your chest, then i flip | |
| Nip your liver, blood flowin like a river | |
| Money starts to shiver then i give a delivery of burns | |
| Bruises fake shoes is your renaissance | |
| No response your moms is out cold | |
| Figure i' m bigger takin your heart nigga at twenty years old | |
| Stray bullet |