Chris De Burgh - Guilty Secret Lyrics lyrics

(feat. 9th Prince, Prodigal Sunn, Shyheim)

[Intro: Shyheim]

27, aight, Terrorist, Killarmy, yeah

Rulin' this, yea, real niggas love this shit right here

Uh, come on, my real niggas gon' love this shit right here

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

My real niggas gonna love this shit, my real niggas gonna love this shit

Watch, my real niggas gonna love this shit, tellin' you

Real niggas, only real niggas bump shit like this, for real

[Shyheim]

I smack niggas like you and tell 'em, go get your gun

As far as I'm concerned, you can suck dick and swallow cum

I'm God's son, the rose of salvation

Product of the ghetto, I'm the street's creation

I move like vampires, only at night

Handgrip like pliers, on the glock wit rapid fire

It's automatic, Shyheim keeps a ratchet

Me and thugs run together like cigarettes and matches

Better give me mines, or I'mma let them rob you

What would you do, when the dogs say you fool?

Run in hideouts? Let me find out

You squat when you piss, scared to pull your dick out

I love drama, that's why surgeons know my name

In the E.R. unit, for givin' cats pain

I catch another "Buck 50", 'fore I give up my chain

I'm God when I'm angry, makin' thunder and rain

[P.R. Terrorist]

You hardly qualify, fuckin' wit I, Terrorist, die

I'm never calm, niggas scheme on gold and plat' charms

Wit leathers and goose feathers on, I never felt the weather warm

It's hot like when the sweaters torn, from the lead of Desert Storm

Your resume was never sworn, I'm sharper than the cactus thorn

My practice on the patient's juggler, his ass was gone

Backdrafts the norm', expose the chemical bombs

Criminals, cons, thug drug dealers that carry arms

Yo, leprechaun, show me the pot of gold

Before my slug blow pain at third nostril like Picasso

In your face, invadin' my space, you sayin' your grace

I'm leavin' you laced, and beatin' the case

All fake niggas stay in their place, it's the thrill of "The Chase"

Tongue kiss the track, blow out the back of the base

[9th Prince]

Fifty four shots aimed at your knot

We plot like them killers who shot Tupac

Shyheim, pass me the iron glock, we keep crime in stock

Platinum frame specs got me lookin' like Cyclops

We hardcore like gang wars wit C4, raw like cavemen fightin' dinosaurs

Outlaws, when I hear streets call, we brawl

My dogs start to crawl, like project pitbulls

Iron Metal Jackets is full, ready to blow ya fuckin' head off

Like a sawed-off, you soft like a homo gettin' slain up north, word life

[Chorus x2: P.R. Terrorist, Prodigal Sunn]

Everybody wanna be a thug

Nobody wanna feel a slug, crush, stay mug

Everybody wanna weep when they see the slugs

Yet everybody coppin' pleas when they see the judge

It's Criminal