Bang bang Code Red


I represent the left, with a death toll high

But I ride with the side called the F.O.I.

Where do or die is the code, banged out is the mode

Now everyone throw up your guns and unload

I’m bound to have your whole town sewed,

niggaz drinkin and gettin blowed

to the sound layin tracks down like the underground railroad

Can’t no jail hold me, or no crackers control me

I shed tears for dead homies (and what) and fears Allah only

So haters don’t want me to hit, tryin to pitch ball four

Makin peace with the beast but with me, bitch it’s all war

I’m hardcore, hardline, hard edge on hard times

Here rap the records determined to get our shine

Turnin water to wine, healin the deaf dumb and blind

With a stone backbone, I join your own to your own kind

So pass the clip as I mash the whip, with the master grip

Just waitin for your ass to slip and I bang bang

[Chorus: Mystic]

Bang bang.. bang, bang, bang

Bang bang bi-dang, bang bang

Bang, bang, bang

Bang bang bi-dang, bang bang

Bang, bang, bang

Bang bang bi-dang, bang bang

Bang, bang, bang

Bang bang bi-dang, bang..


Chitty chitty bang bang, a gritty city gang thang

We maintain, rap jack and slang ‘caine

and brang pain, think you can hang you best be sure

Cause the West is where I’m from so come test me now


Way-oyyyyyy, way-oy-oy-oy-oy

Way-oyyyyyy, way-oy-oy-oy-oy


Ring the alarm, code red, Arm Leg Leg Arm Head

Soldiers on the move, show and prove, go out and get the dead

and spit the lead, let’s quit this black and brown bloodshed

And get this bread, lay these crackers down in a mudbed

Like Spud Webb I go to war with the giants

Cause they just pawns in the game but I’m a lord of the science

I gets nuff respect, while other niggaz is suspect

Ass-kickin cash get them pretty boys slash ruffnecks



So cocks the hammer back and rack the pump

Since the police hate me unlock the safety just in case we have to dump

I’m ready for shit to jump, my niggaz carryin mags

Like “Fuck these United Snakes and they American fags”

Uncle Tom’s askin Uncle Sam, “Why can’t we bond?”

But nigga Kam don’t give a damn about no Yankee mon

Stars and stripes I earn ’em, blow a whole through they sternum

See my arrangement with the Lord is I return ’em, he burn ’em

But I don’t claim to be no saint, solely because I ain’t holy

But you just got be-lieeeve, foley

Everybody on the block knows, just how it go

I got flows, rock shows, clock dough and knock hoes

down like a pimp on the track, just mackin

Out for my dollars pop your collars holla back – what’s crackin?

Shit it’s your world I’m just a squirrel tryin to find a nut

Catch me at the club, in the cut, watchin the girls, wind it up


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