Brotha Lynch Hung - Art of War lyrics

(feat. Cos)

[Lynch Talking]

Art of War nigga, (nigga get in)

The art of war, (I know where he at)

Dedicated to the niggaz

that feel they need to make a living off niggaz

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 niggaz gay cats jay cats walkin' cross the street

When we see 'em I'm mashin' like we on a race track

These niggaz way wack, they knew that since way back

That's why when you gave me your shit it got no playback

You niggaz 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 niggaz find out ya M-O that's all she wrote

Cause Blocc niggaz 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 niggaz 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]