The Push - KIllarmy, Superb

Yo, watch for the shrapnel admiral

Didn’t know the kid was tactful

My missles whistle at you spactual, subtract you

Surrender all, we got you

Blitzkrieg, fahtis bleed, it’s natural

The Army, take out your front line calmly — you like that

Tell the Cap’the kids back the Millitant

My regiment be five percent put Steelo in Killin these tracks, Beretta on attack

This one for my die-hard niggas, watch yo’back

Or wind up in the graveyard, in Allah tint

Ask the fans, it’s the Gods again

And if we got to, then we kill again

«Louie under, we’re making another push»

«Get your people together.

lieutenant?»

«I got nothin left»

«Dig a little deeper»

Yo.

Up all night writin darts

Sniffin the pure, Christmas Eve '99 reminiscin and shit

(Bout) who got hit, (Bout) who got bitch

(Bout) who bitches that is, who got kids and

Who sell crack, who a rapper now

Who money-washin, who was P.O.

Try to get him lockied up but his bitch is C.O.

And she gon’tell the captain, he gon’buy him a boat

The cap’gon’tell the judge, he gon’buy him a goat (And)

The judge gon’tell the D.A., he gon’buy him some coke

The D.A.

gon’tell his lawyer that his client can go And, all y’all niggas mad I got the iron from Ghost

And, Chef still cookin what you tryin to get roast

Bobby’ll beat that ass, Meth do a show in ya coats

And Cappadonna, the Masta will Kill ya You fuckin with a true master, fuckin with power

You fuckin with the Wu bastards, fuckin with ours

We the most livest, most largest, squadrant

Sergeants in Africa, thugs from America

Live from New York, straight from Florida City

All shitty, screamin «Play more Biggie»

Hood like you blowin, per blow more quickly

Still poppin pain that cause four-fifty

I ain’t know they was young, I just like short bitches

Yo, you fucked up when you crossed my line

I got the nine, pointed at ya back spine

So feel the heat, as I let the lead tear your meat

Cuz I represent the real niggas from the streets

I’m comin trough blackdown, with the fat tre’pound

Strapped, cocked back

While my right-hand man plays a role in the back,

with the mack — Subject to murderous art,

as I finesse it and also compose the track like Mozart

This nine’ll script, niggas get finked up In this rap game, it’s madly insane

So don’t go against the grain, or get your life tooken

With ya head chopped off, placed in a plastic bag,

its Central booking, forever kings

Aiyyo I spit verses that’ll bury you beneath the surface

A murder this like voodoo curses

9th Prince forever nervous, analog niggas is short-circuit

Killa be killas the purpose

Guns in holsters what the earth is, musical apocalypse

Run up on the label, hold the A and R for a hostage

Limps from four-footers who’s with it, go 'head spit it The weed and dust makes me kill shit, kill shit…

«The way I see it, we’ve got two choices»

«We can settle for being slaughtered in the push tomorrow»

«Or we can take those tanks out tonight.»

«If we do it, it’s just us»

«We'll slip past the lines unchecked»

«Just another sorry-ass patrol»

«Lemme get this straight»

«Yesterdauy your point was Section 8»

«No»

«You wanna lead some renegade force against their tanks»