Brotha Lynch Hung - Art Of War lyrics

[Lynch Talking] Art of War n***a, (n***a get in) The art of war, (I know where he at) Dedicated to the n***az that feel they need to make a living off n***az You know, check it out [Brotha Lynch Hung] I smell p**y push me, I got a hard dick for k**in' Go head and start sh** wid the villain and get your heart split in a million pieces You need Jesus I can tell by your releases please He s** nuts for cheese somebody grease his knees If you s** 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 b**h n***a 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 sh** 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 d**h" "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 pa** these days But talk sh** about my click we gon' blast these K's These n***az gay cats jay cats walkin' cross the street When we see 'em I'm mashin' like we on a race track These n***az way wack, they knew that since way back That's why when you gave me your sh** it got no playback You n***az 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 sh** Don't buy that n***a album man he a real b**h This n***a tryna make a dollar off my nig's sh** Don't talk sh** to gain fame that's some ill sh** Come wid some real sh**, and stop lyin' Cause you ain't never shot nobody and copped a diamond n***a [Hook] [Brotha Lynch] Slim love you well slim joke, you been broke Soon as these Blocc n***az find out ya M-O that's all she wrote Cause Blocc n***az don't f** 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 n***a 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 motherf**as I'll gi' you a lil' help Cause if I really had funk wid you, I wouldn't say sh** Just spray sh**, come get you, ya done dizzle All I gotta do is whistle and here comes the troops Siccmade n***az stompin' in steel toe boots We get paid quicker I know it hurts but it's the truth Pretty motherf**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 Motherf**ers could end up in a trunk out here Can you feel it? [Hook]