(feat. Cos)

[Lynch Talking]

Art of War ^!$$%, (^!$$% get in)
The art of war, (I know where he at)
Dedicated to the ^!$$%z

that feel they need to make a living off ^!$$%z
You know, check it out


[Brotha Lynch Hung]
I smell #~!!@ push me, I got a hard dick for killin'
Go head and start %#@! 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 (*##$ ^!$$% 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 %#@! 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 %#@! about my click we gon' blast these K's
These ^!$$%z gay cats jay cats walkin' cross the street
When we see 'em I'm mashin' like we on a race track

These ^!$$%z way wack, they knew that since way back
That's why when you gave me your %#@! it got no playback
You ^!$$%z 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 %#@!
Don't buy that ^!$$% album man he a real (*##$

This ^!$$% tryna make a dollar off my nig's %#@!
Don't talk %#@! to gain fame that's some ill %#@!
Come wid some real %#@!, and stop lyin'

Cause you ain't never shot nobody and copped a diamond ^!$$%

[Hook]


[Brotha Lynch]
Slim love you well slim joke, you been broke

Soon as these Blocc ^!$$%z find out ya M-O that's all she wrote
Cause Blocc ^!$$%z don't $#&@ 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 ^!$$%
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 mother$#&@as I'll gi' you a lil' help

Cause if I really had funk wid you, I wouldn't say %#@!
Just spray %#@!, come get you, ya done dizzle
All I gotta do is whistle and here comes the troops

Siccmade ^!$$%z stompin' in steel toe boots
We get paid quicker I know it hurts but it's the truth
Pretty mother$#&@a 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
Mother$#&@ers could end up in a trunk out here
Can you feel it?


[Hook]