FANDOM

1,927,694 Pages

StarIconGreen
LangIcon
​War Party

This song is by Prince Paul and appears on the album A Prince Among Thieves (1999).

(Feat. Horror City)

I'm that dope up in your brain with syringes
Comin' through, kickin doors off the fuckin' hinges
I'm in this, like forty fiends on seven day binges
Comin' with my felony offenders, drinkin' Guinness
The slender of a never ending back bender
My agenda be the legal tender, blue fox in the winter
Say it with me, yes, mad style in the streets
Bitches that be blowin' up my hip with mad beeps

Murder me? You musta never fuckin' heard of me
I get thank you letters from emergency for fillin vacancies
And don't even mention surgery, because they awarded me
For bein the man to do the most abuse to industry
Injure me, see the evil spirits enter me
Larry Single-tary, now who majesty, an entity (uuh!)
If I cut you do you not bleed
If I bust up in a guts, you should not bear seed that resemble me

I hear the sound of dope fiends' screams
It's gotta mean somebody's scheme, on the stash again
I'm spittin' hollow points like phlegm
I'd probably bring a friend but these days
I'm driftin off into galaxies
Feel the sea breeze throughout vicinities, eeaaaww!
While prophecies that kick the sky splits
Omigod, droppin' clips is this the end?
Forever I'll be never injured, why because the devil had me shook
I'm shakin, this evil spirits takin' flesh is bakin in

Here's a, special delivery, of the pain and misery
Can you maintain it? The degrees of temperature can be caused
I'm the guy that pulls the wool over your eyes, and move
At war speeds, do 45's in the skies, and be
Whatever y'all call that, that bridges the gap
And in suspended animation and reality rap
Picture like Kodak, and wax flows clean as Kojak
And you know that, all front row wigs get blown back

Deacon, comin' up the rear with the wicked
Two felony convicted, Colin Ferguson
Murderin, open up your guts kid, what?
I'm diesel like three fifty, woke up with mad cuts
And don't give a fuck
I snatch the soul out your back, so how you figure
You could hold your fuckin' own, you're a clone
Alone in the world, know I tend to be
Once a friend of me, now we're known as bitter enemies

Check it, check it
We charge up like a nine volt, drama beef
You better hold I pack a 45 Colt with a mad kick
'Cause when I lit, the ho's got snitch
You better duck quick before you get your shirls knicked split
I blaze knock this one, it's on it's on, for reals
Steel pull out, call my bluff, a nigga fade to sear
In a second or a minute I reckon I be in it
Full-on flanks for high banks, tanks ???

Enough of this S and M
Them leather wearin bitches whippin men
From a corner of a dead end, I can't forget my dead friends
And that's what makes my brain sporadic
Plus I got a bad habit, of mixin alcohol with automatics
Who got static? I came to set it off and get this party started
Those who provoke, is gettin' choked, I ain't no fuckin' joke
My friends won't go anywhere with me, anyone in the vicinitiy
Charged with conspiracy get death by electricity

Niggas get confused, not knowin' what I'ma do
I sit and wait for niggas to make an ill-advised move
I save the way that could be from here to there
Bustin' shots, some secluded spots you don't know where
So where art thou, where art thou
Talkin' about your dead family members, pal, don't fuck around
Or for cryin out loud, tellin' you now from Jump Street
Whoever steps up I'm leavin' them bleedin' profusely