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Ice Cube

War & Peace * Vol. 1: The War Disc

  rap  hip-hop  gangsta rap  west coast  hip hop
410,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни Ice Cube - War & Peace * Vol. 1: The War Disc

Ice Cube - War & Peace * Vol. 1: The War Disc слова песни

One mo` strike and I`m through, niggaBottom of the ninth swingin, for my lifeI`m up at the plate, goin for the gateThey got my moms seated in section eightBeen on deck since my last felony I`m that 0 for 2 mothafucka With the Louisville SluggerShay Whitie, that left hand punkis on the mound and he comin wit dat off-speed junkIts the Westside Hustlaz, vs these LA PigsYou can say the damned vs the nigsMy little homies in the dugoutThey lookin` sad, cuz fourteen niggas done struck-outMy first offense was possession of weedNow I`m in the major leagues andthat mothafucka Bill Clinton-is a son of a bitchhad the nerve to throw out the first pitch I`m just tryin` to get rich like TrumpThe Home Run king is now in a slump, pass me a hunkHow the fuck can I stay out the penWhen its one-two-three strikes you inChorus:One-two three strikes you inNow how the fuck a nigga supposed to stay out the pen, I`m on a blendof Gin and Hen, everyday of my lifeWith two strikes it ain`t rightHe`s in the wind-upHere come the pitchI swing, aw shit (foul tip)They felt the chill cuz if I get on firstYou know the deal - a niggas gots to stealLike to steal home and I betchaThat I can run over, the LA Pig catcherJust because I`m black, wit a batThey wanna send a nigga back to the warning trackfulla count they say I won`t amount to shitBut fool I can hit like Kenny GritWith a split in my mouth on tha cellular phone(It`s going, going, gone!)And watch a pitcher get servedYou from tha LA Pigs I know you coming with a curveAy batter, batter is the chitter-chatterI`m the designated hitter, a niggamuch badder, than Babe RuthWill I tell the truth and nothing but the truthHell yea, I`d rather be shootin` hoopsCuz a niggas guaranteed to win Against a bullshit loss and three strikes you inTake me out to the ballgame Take me out to the crowd (wha what, wha what)Another nigga on trialKeep ya peanuts JeezuhAnd fuck you Cracker JackI hope I never come backI gots to root for my homeboysIf they dont win its a shameCuz its one-two-three strikes you intwenty-five years of pain you know my nameThey wanna nigga to run and get hunghigh strung, so this pig can win the Cy-YoungI`ma hit this mothafucka a mileIn the batters box, high as Steve HalYou can`t salary cap my gatNo strike, cuz gangsta-rap is on the mapI`m like Satchel Paige wit a gaugeOr Jackie Robinson, when I`m robbin` one of you Cracker Jacks fool I`m a mothafuckin vetAnd fuck yo seventh-inning stretch, soTake me out to the ballgame,and see my neighborhood nameIn your Ghetto Hall of FameChorus x 3Yea (It ain`t right)Playin` people like a game (It aint right)Human beings, puttin` em in a jar (It aint right)for double life, triple life (It aint right)Take me out to the ballgame Take me out to the crowd (wha what, wha what)Another nigga on trialKeep ya peanuts JeezuhAnd fuck you Cracker Jack I hope I never come backI gots to root for my homeboys

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