| Song | Originators |
| Artist | Killarmy |
| Album | Fear, Love & War |
| 作曲 : Hamilin, McWilliams | |
| (9th Prince) | |
| Yoaw! Whattup | |
| This right here, is an explosion | |
| For all the radio stations | |
| Across United Nations, United States | |
| Word up, turn this up right here | |
| Aiyyoaw, aiyyoaw | |
| Originators we came, gladiators, God-body regulators | |
| We're street educators | |
| I was born through the womb, of Emagene Hamlin | |
| She's the creator of the Terminator - 9th Prince, rhyme slayer | |
| Stayed in ten housing projects, razors, machine gun blazes | |
| at'cha neighbors - Jamaican rum, no chaser | |
| Number one contender, we can busts guns after dinner | |
| Last man standin, he's the winner | |
| Ghetto prime minister, Desert Storm ski-mask avengers | |
| We move like ninjas in the winter | |
| Brown-skin Adonis, slugs to the stomach, blood gush like Ramic | |
| Mad man's bionic, check the weather climate | |
| Strike like lightning, terrorists Islamic | |
| A ghetto superhero, like Marvel Comics | |
| Vertical limits, fresh notebooks I write anthems to crooks image | |
| Cross the lines of scrimmage - I shoot you in your temple, | |
| and leave your face shattered with dimples | |
| Killa-Arm could never be so simple | |
| Cross my heart, I won't die 'til your ass is crippled | |
| In a wheelchair, knee-cap raps, flashbacks to digital, warfare... | |
| (talking) | |
| Yoaw, I wanna say whattup | |
| to everybody who copped that first and second album | |
| Word up, y'all real troops out there, yoaw | |
| (9th Prince) | |
| Aiyyoaw, my lions run through club Cheetah, with rusty heaters | |
| That blast like lyrical heat-seekers through the speakers | |
| Non-believers are deceivers - through the media | |
| Lyrics try to teach ya, or walk through Harlem like Black Caesar | |
| Razor blade, stashed inside the sole of my sneaker | |
| Ill graphics, far from a savage | |
| The streets is wicked like Halloween havoc | |
| Little children with automatics | |
| Imagine babies drive-by's in the cabbage | |
| Rappers is like Peter Pan | |
| or built like Sandman on the desert lands | |
| I'm from Shaolin, my sword is a mic stand | |
| You should slow ya glance, 9th Prince is in command | |
| Of the stage, my heart pumps rage | |
| Like a jungle lion, trapped inside a cage | |
| I free slaves, through the airwaves of Hot 97 airplay | |
| All my real soldiers, wave ya AK's and hand grenades | |
| (talking) | |
| Word the fuck up, the 9th Prizm | |
| The new millennium, peace and blessings to all five boroughs | |
| Brooklyn, Manhattan, Staten, word up | |
| Queens, ya know, Long Island.. | |
| Upstate, Connecticut, the whole tri-state.. | |
| New Jers'.. peace and blessings to Killa-Arm | |
| We armed and dangerous, for real | |
| The new millennium, get ready.. | |
| one love, two loves, three loves... |
| zuò qǔ : Hamilin, McWilliams | |
| 9th Prince | |
| Yoaw! Whattup | |
| This right here, is an explosion | |
| For all the radio stations | |
| Across United Nations, United States | |
| Word up, turn this up right here | |
| Aiyyoaw, aiyyoaw | |
| Originators we came, gladiators, Godbody regulators | |
| We' re street educators | |
| I was born through the womb, of Emagene Hamlin | |
| She' s the creator of the Terminator 9th Prince, rhyme slayer | |
| Stayed in ten housing projects, razors, machine gun blazes | |
| at' cha neighbors Jamaican rum, no chaser | |
| Number one contender, we can busts guns after dinner | |
| Last man standin, he' s the winner | |
| Ghetto prime minister, Desert Storm skimask avengers | |
| We move like ninjas in the winter | |
| Brownskin Adonis, slugs to the stomach, blood gush like Ramic | |
| Mad man' s bionic, check the weather climate | |
| Strike like lightning, terrorists Islamic | |
| A ghetto superhero, like Marvel Comics | |
| Vertical limits, fresh notebooks I write anthems to crooks image | |
| Cross the lines of scrimmage I shoot you in your temple, | |
| and leave your face shattered with dimples | |
| KillaArm could never be so simple | |
| Cross my heart, I won' t die ' til your ass is crippled | |
| In a wheelchair, kneecap raps, flashbacks to digital, warfare... | |
| talking | |
| Yoaw, I wanna say whattup | |
| to everybody who copped that first and second album | |
| Word up, y' all real troops out there, yoaw | |
| 9th Prince | |
| Aiyyoaw, my lions run through club Cheetah, with rusty heaters | |
| That blast like lyrical heatseekers through the speakers | |
| Nonbelievers are deceivers through the media | |
| Lyrics try to teach ya, or walk through Harlem like Black Caesar | |
| Razor blade, stashed inside the sole of my sneaker | |
| Ill graphics, far from a savage | |
| The streets is wicked like Halloween havoc | |
| Little children with automatics | |
| Imagine babies driveby' s in the cabbage | |
| Rappers is like Peter Pan | |
| or built like Sandman on the desert lands | |
| I' m from Shaolin, my sword is a mic stand | |
| You should slow ya glance, 9th Prince is in command | |
| Of the stage, my heart pumps rage | |
| Like a jungle lion, trapped inside a cage | |
| I free slaves, through the airwaves of Hot 97 airplay | |
| All my real soldiers, wave ya AK' s and hand grenades | |
| talking | |
| Word the fuck up, the 9th Prizm | |
| The new millennium, peace and blessings to all five boroughs | |
| Brooklyn, Manhattan, Staten, word up | |
| Queens, ya know, Long Island.. | |
| Upstate, Connecticut, the whole tristate.. | |
| New Jers'.. peace and blessings to KillaArm | |
| We armed and dangerous, for real | |
| The new millennium, get ready.. | |
| one love, two loves, three loves... |