War Rats (Album Version) Lyrics
| Song | War Rats (Album Version) |
| Artist | Cappadonna |
| Album | The Yin and The Yang |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Hill, Isaacs | |
| (feat. Neonek) | |
| (Verse 1) | |
| Less seen and less heard, It's the pillage | |
| live where we die for trade, orphans of the industry, rise up against | |
| pretense, DJ's of segregation come together plottin' on the Nation | |
| cats got the puff powder dance | |
| underground economics, take a chance at the crackpot | |
| speak at the ones on top | |
| at the gay bar your best rap star caught not keepin' it real | |
| whats the deal wit' ya'll wanna be MC's when Ghost hit you | |
| the struggle is official with this | |
| chill 'cause we don't mix wit' yall uncle Tomers | |
| we rock those real black leather bombers | |
| for real, Park Hill not Beverly Hills | |
| ya'll better be still | |
| my brains come out of my ball pen for my origin | |
| I put the work in, any predictament | |
| in fact it don't matter to me | |
| the rap Oprah Winfrey with less currency | |
| but rock beautifully, no security with me | |
| hard times and prophecy | |
| one idea, two children and three for virginity | |
| pure energy whenever you confront me | |
| I'ma take yours, star wars. | |
| (Chorus) | |
| Star Wars, storm troopers, evil rulers | |
| New manuevers, Black German Luger laser beam | |
| (repeat Chorus) | |
| (Verse 2) | |
| The tables turned now, enter Shaolin where it's cold now | |
| let the Teck blow now | |
| more Jungle nails, Parkhillbillies pour gas on Phillies | |
| blocks where the Babies pick locks | |
| and Women make love to other Women | |
| it's the pillage, your Mother's Sons | |
| no more cold war, it be the poor ones | |
| no radio play, from the hallway to the doorway | |
| they banned us, cease to understand us | |
| rap criminals segregated, player hated | |
| underrated, project recipients | |
| Cappadonna, bag with the marijuana | |
| I'm a late-comer, I spread love last Summer | |
| photographs with the Hummer | |
| a young dumber, bound to get dumber | |
| I speak the real CB, pillage monopoly | |
| talk a XYZ, ain't nothin' like WB | |
| O.T.F., a bag of Uno Sixty | |
| I love how the weed get me | |
| see me whole style tricky | |
| gats under the table, the tables turn now | |
| life is too short and too foul | |
| fake Brothers will get exiled | |
| Staten Island style, chicka-Pow! | |
| (Chorus) - 2X | |
| (Verse 3) | |
| I drop paragraphs of information | |
| my mind starts racin' | |
| I'm in the lot dancin' with the hard-headed | |
| I start to attack on every track when I react | |
| dancehall style, ain't nothin' nice | |
| I came to regulate, Cappachino the great | |
| comin' from all sorts of angles | |
| I close in, my team be the chosen | |
| authorized like a hat tucked in | |
| you get sucked in, catch a repurcussion and crushed in | |
| paralyzed, open your eyes, it's us again | |
| O.T.F. hit you like the blow of death | |
| pulled while you was 'sleep | |
| with or without the gold teeth | |
| crunch and lounge, Q guardin' the door | |
| it's like Comstock, we in the Belly similar to clock | |
| Boys to Men buildin', in the street | |
| Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat | |
| thugs smoke leek, it's like the penile in the ghetto | |
| Palmetto, chocolate trees, crying Babies | |
| rabies to the ringworm, take a turn and get burned | |
| tryin' to be this, realness | |
| Shaolin barracks is very high tempered | |
| sensed it in the water sorrounded by the fairy boats | |
| hallways with pissy cut throats | |
| we forever live, gotta protect the orphanage | |
| the beast men, learn to fight back with the poilcemen | |
| Star Wars...Star Wars. | |
| (Chorus) - 3x |
| zuo ci : Hill, Isaacs | |
| feat. Neonek | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Less seen and less heard, It' s the pillage | |
| live where we die for trade, orphans of the industry, rise up against | |
| pretense, DJ' s of segregation come together plottin' on the Nation | |
| cats got the puff powder dance | |
| underground economics, take a chance at the crackpot | |
| speak at the ones on top | |
| at the gay bar your best rap star caught not keepin' it real | |
| whats the deal wit' ya' ll wanna be MC' s when Ghost hit you | |
| the struggle is official with this | |
| chill ' cause we don' t mix wit' yall uncle Tomers | |
| we rock those real black leather bombers | |
| for real, Park Hill not Beverly Hills | |
| ya' ll better be still | |
| my brains come out of my ball pen for my origin | |
| I put the work in, any predictament | |
| in fact it don' t matter to me | |
| the rap Oprah Winfrey with less currency | |
| but rock beautifully, no security with me | |
| hard times and prophecy | |
| one idea, two children and three for virginity | |
| pure energy whenever you confront me | |
| I' ma take yours, star wars. | |
| Chorus | |
| Star Wars, storm troopers, evil rulers | |
| New manuevers, Black German Luger laser beam | |
| repeat Chorus | |
| Verse 2 | |
| The tables turned now, enter Shaolin where it' s cold now | |
| let the Teck blow now | |
| more Jungle nails, Parkhillbillies pour gas on Phillies | |
| blocks where the Babies pick locks | |
| and Women make love to other Women | |
| it' s the pillage, your Mother' s Sons | |
| no more cold war, it be the poor ones | |
| no radio play, from the hallway to the doorway | |
| they banned us, cease to understand us | |
| rap criminals segregated, player hated | |
| underrated, project recipients | |
| Cappadonna, bag with the marijuana | |
| I' m a latecomer, I spread love last Summer | |
| photographs with the Hummer | |
| a young dumber, bound to get dumber | |
| I speak the real CB, pillage monopoly | |
| talk a XYZ, ain' t nothin' like WB | |
| O. T. F., a bag of Uno Sixty | |
| I love how the weed get me | |
| see me whole style tricky | |
| gats under the table, the tables turn now | |
| life is too short and too foul | |
| fake Brothers will get exiled | |
| Staten Island style, chickaPow! | |
| Chorus 2X | |
| Verse 3 | |
| I drop paragraphs of information | |
| my mind starts racin' | |
| I' m in the lot dancin' with the hardheaded | |
| I start to attack on every track when I react | |
| dancehall style, ain' t nothin' nice | |
| I came to regulate, Cappachino the great | |
| comin' from all sorts of angles | |
| I close in, my team be the chosen | |
| authorized like a hat tucked in | |
| you get sucked in, catch a repurcussion and crushed in | |
| paralyzed, open your eyes, it' s us again | |
| O. T. F. hit you like the blow of death | |
| pulled while you was ' sleep | |
| with or without the gold teeth | |
| crunch and lounge, Q guardin' the door | |
| it' s like Comstock, we in the Belly similar to clock | |
| Boys to Men buildin', in the street | |
| Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat | |
| thugs smoke leek, it' s like the penile in the ghetto | |
| Palmetto, chocolate trees, crying Babies | |
| rabies to the ringworm, take a turn and get burned | |
| tryin' to be this, realness | |
| Shaolin barracks is very high tempered | |
| sensed it in the water sorrounded by the fairy boats | |
| hallways with pissy cut throats | |
| we forever live, gotta protect the orphanage | |
| the beast men, learn to fight back with the poilcemen | |
| Star Wars... Star Wars. | |
| Chorus 3x |
| zuò cí : Hill, Isaacs | |
| feat. Neonek | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Less seen and less heard, It' s the pillage | |
| live where we die for trade, orphans of the industry, rise up against | |
| pretense, DJ' s of segregation come together plottin' on the Nation | |
| cats got the puff powder dance | |
| underground economics, take a chance at the crackpot | |
| speak at the ones on top | |
| at the gay bar your best rap star caught not keepin' it real | |
| whats the deal wit' ya' ll wanna be MC' s when Ghost hit you | |
| the struggle is official with this | |
| chill ' cause we don' t mix wit' yall uncle Tomers | |
| we rock those real black leather bombers | |
| for real, Park Hill not Beverly Hills | |
| ya' ll better be still | |
| my brains come out of my ball pen for my origin | |
| I put the work in, any predictament | |
| in fact it don' t matter to me | |
| the rap Oprah Winfrey with less currency | |
| but rock beautifully, no security with me | |
| hard times and prophecy | |
| one idea, two children and three for virginity | |
| pure energy whenever you confront me | |
| I' ma take yours, star wars. | |
| Chorus | |
| Star Wars, storm troopers, evil rulers | |
| New manuevers, Black German Luger laser beam | |
| repeat Chorus | |
| Verse 2 | |
| The tables turned now, enter Shaolin where it' s cold now | |
| let the Teck blow now | |
| more Jungle nails, Parkhillbillies pour gas on Phillies | |
| blocks where the Babies pick locks | |
| and Women make love to other Women | |
| it' s the pillage, your Mother' s Sons | |
| no more cold war, it be the poor ones | |
| no radio play, from the hallway to the doorway | |
| they banned us, cease to understand us | |
| rap criminals segregated, player hated | |
| underrated, project recipients | |
| Cappadonna, bag with the marijuana | |
| I' m a latecomer, I spread love last Summer | |
| photographs with the Hummer | |
| a young dumber, bound to get dumber | |
| I speak the real CB, pillage monopoly | |
| talk a XYZ, ain' t nothin' like WB | |
| O. T. F., a bag of Uno Sixty | |
| I love how the weed get me | |
| see me whole style tricky | |
| gats under the table, the tables turn now | |
| life is too short and too foul | |
| fake Brothers will get exiled | |
| Staten Island style, chickaPow! | |
| Chorus 2X | |
| Verse 3 | |
| I drop paragraphs of information | |
| my mind starts racin' | |
| I' m in the lot dancin' with the hardheaded | |
| I start to attack on every track when I react | |
| dancehall style, ain' t nothin' nice | |
| I came to regulate, Cappachino the great | |
| comin' from all sorts of angles | |
| I close in, my team be the chosen | |
| authorized like a hat tucked in | |
| you get sucked in, catch a repurcussion and crushed in | |
| paralyzed, open your eyes, it' s us again | |
| O. T. F. hit you like the blow of death | |
| pulled while you was ' sleep | |
| with or without the gold teeth | |
| crunch and lounge, Q guardin' the door | |
| it' s like Comstock, we in the Belly similar to clock | |
| Boys to Men buildin', in the street | |
| Oatmeal and Cream of Wheat | |
| thugs smoke leek, it' s like the penile in the ghetto | |
| Palmetto, chocolate trees, crying Babies | |
| rabies to the ringworm, take a turn and get burned | |
| tryin' to be this, realness | |
| Shaolin barracks is very high tempered | |
| sensed it in the water sorrounded by the fairy boats | |
| hallways with pissy cut throats | |
| we forever live, gotta protect the orphanage | |
| the beast men, learn to fight back with the poilcemen | |
| Star Wars... Star Wars. | |
| Chorus 3x |
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