Kevlaar 7 - Gomorrah lyrics

[Intro: Bronze Nazareth] (Where we at where we at?) Yeah uh huh Sodom and Gomorrah Bronze man where we at? 313 school for the blindman n***a Gun rule the alma mater Straight off the great migration (Where we at where we at?) Detroit the new school, 313 stand up (Where we at where we at?) School for the blindman (Where we at where we at?) I got you! I'm Back! (Where we at where we at?) Whut up doe? Get ya book ready! [Hook: Bronze Nazareth] We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah And at the bottom of the soil In the deepest of the hole Where the leaches won't crawl And the people want oil, lies Detroit We living in Sodom and Gomorrah Where scars from the cotton left God's fruit rotten And maybe God forgot ‘em So where does he go if his soul left this body from…. Detroit! [Bronze Nazareth] So maybe God forgot him? Like white man forgot cotton built a nation But it's no jobs for him So my mind went exploring on diesel trips Sidewalks littered with eagle clips Witness flowers on poles Models on poles with evil hips T shirts adorned with the face of he who slipped Got cousins down south I first hand seen the sh** From off the hip the preist release doves from his grip They love us for our teams but f** a statistic If he ain't make it or slip it's onto the next script Focus and lift immense weight just to make it In dire straights Who's to say MITT ROMNEY wouldn't bake it and cut it My God it's ugly (but) But you don't throw the mirror out You don't throw the infant and the aquafina out Document this let's take the scenic route [Hook: Bronze Nazareth] We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah And at the bottom of the soil In the deepest of the hole Where the leaches won't crawl And the people want oil [k**ah Priest] From Brooklyn!!! We living in Sodom and Gomorrah Where scars from the cotton left God's fruit rotten And maybe God forgot ‘em So where does he go if his soul left this body [k**ah Priest] From Brooklyn!!! [k**ah Priest] Brooklyn The A train the J train Run through my body like veins Bear arms with dope fiend tracks Look back there's crack There's strapped hustlers Customers scat, bust blood on the halls Brothers in malls we love ‘em names colored in walls Street fame, n***as from Gates ave Mark was a great man, put his face in the stained gla** Just like a saint pa**ed Gun shots so loud you would think that a tank blast Cops crowd around a young man on the train stabbed So here's a frame or rope chain For cats in the dope game No love for the no lames Or Gs off the coke lane So tote, run for Nostrand Hoodlums from off of Putnam Bushwick is flooded with m**m And this is Brooklyn Queens the Islands of central bookings [Hook: Bronze Nazareth] We livin in Sodom and Gomorrah And at the bottom of the soil In the deepest of the hole Where the leaches won't crawl And the people want oil, lies….. Gun Rule! We living in Sodom and Gomorrah Where scars from the cotton left God's fruit rotten And maybe God forgot ‘em So where does he go if his soul left this body from…. Gun Rule! [Bronze Nazareth] Gun Rule, where gutted buildings is screaming out Crack fiends walk but their souls is beaten out Clouds is bleeding down Rain hail sleet shells Swat teams across the street I hear em yell! Schools missing books k-12 Granholm or grams, which one'll help me excel? Stop the mistreatment in this sweltering hell! Big city of ruins Pot holes and caught souls all in your viewin Block roads, my people who accepted my union Still I lock and load while I'm protecting my movement But they got us cold hearted flipping weight to survive My building's like a matrix inside Rats crackheads and alley flies Broken streets – a moses divide Well mama ain't push him so he had to throw knives Got a pit bull in cold nights Roll dice in old piss Blow weed sticks smoke kiss my magnum opus Next to hope and open tombs of asbestos Structure their best chance right out a bible lesson The roofs caving, shots hit like aaron maybin At night it's nightmares, our mayor? Wes Craven It makes a n***a heinous, makes a n***a aim the flamers A Child of a lesser God whose Pain's famous So we shoot and oil our guns with grease from chicken coop Mad ave's stressed out streets, the cops is troops! Vacation get ya probation in Gun Rule!!!