Straight out, the Wild Hunnids.
West 110, 242.
Right in between Killazaz and Princeton.
Roseland, place of birth.
Many not knowing me,
I'm here to shake the earth.
I seen it in a dream,
a revelation.
Ain't no hesitation, carnivore.
Bloodthirsty for the art of war.
Combat veteran, chill shock on the block.
Born a hustler to the gang.
Raw flesh, bone, conker bra.
Lion, little tribe, I'ma call Judah.
Ghetto warrior,
man,
I'm about to gut you with the sweet old ghetto a-throwing.
I bet an untold secret's now running through my veins.
Kota on the main.
The ghetto's like a big old box,
but niggas long to get out to see it better shine.
But really what it is,
man,
I got to refine my mind.
Watching through the darkness,
watching to the warrior's drums.
To the sweet old music.
Whoa,
don't stop the music.
Whoa,
sweet ghetto music.
My cities ran by Vice Lords, Molded Stones.
Over 60,000 Gs, New Breeds, Latin Kings.
Street geniuses,
guerrilla warriors,
backbone of Capone niggas.
See,
I was told that the lost sheep that dwell up in the north,
sent from the Lord to rattle bones of
the dead that lie in shallow grave.
Music medicine,
a witch doctor,
dropping magic like it's voodoo.
360,
universal language,
healing from the heart of America.
A son is born, street trooper dog.
Strap ready for war, a predator.
Keep my eyes on the prey.
When you step through my city,
best to keep your head straight.
Cause you can get *,
* around with the wrong clique.
Guerrilla warriors,
I told you before,
I'm watching through the motherfucking ghetto music.
Whoa,
don't stop the music.
Don't you stop that music.
Whoa,
keep
that music moving.
Sweet ghetto music.
I know that you can use it.
Keep it rolling, man.
You best keep it rolling.
They might not play me on the radio,
but on the ground I'm the motherfucking posie.
You best recognize,
keep that * moving.
Don't stop moving.
Don't stop that moving.
Sweet ghetto music,
but on the ground I'm the motherfucking posie.
You best recognize,
keep that * moving.
Don't stop moving.
Don't stop that moving.
They might not play me on the radio,
but on the ground I'm the motherfucking posie.
Sweet ghetto music.
Sweet ghetto music.
Sweet ghetto music.
I know that you can use it.
All right, y'all, work it.