| Song | Gun Talk |
| Artist | Willie D |
| Album | Loved By Few, Hated By Many |
| 作词 : Cooper, DennismW.Green ... | |
| Da-da-da-da-da-da | |
| Da - da - da - da - da | |
| Nineteen-muthafuckin-ninety-nine | |
| Willie D | |
| Retreat or get hit | |
| I'm loved by few, hated by many | |
| But guess what? | |
| I don't give a shit | |
| ( VERSE 1: Willie D ) | |
| Fuck it, in the bucket, ready for the drama | |
| Finna heat this muthafucka up like Texas in the summer | |
| Trauma comin like a cold blue, got your body shakin like jelly | |
| Leavin you smelly with bullet wounds to the belly | |
| My adversaries want me dead, my survival's crucial | |
| I see caskets in your muthafuckin future | |
| If you're neutral, stay the hell away from me, bitch | |
| Cause this rotten nigga's ain't never gonna be shit | |
| Mom did her best, but I guess her best wasn't good enough | |
| Cause I stopped knockin bitches out when my nuts got bigger | |
| Bought me a gun and shot my first nigga | |
| Trigger-happy laws suck my cock-suckin balls | |
| I have the paramedics cleanin out your fuckin drawers | |
| They put my muthafuckin homie in the slammer, black | |
| For a stray shooter and a gramm of crack | |
| Damn, this track make me wanna eat it up and shit it out | |
| Pork made when I hit a cop | |
| I'm havin dreams of bloody pictures | |
| My adversary makin wishes | |
| But I ain't sparin them bitches | |
| I let my gun talk | |
| Let it talk, nigga | |
| Let it, let it, let it, let it | |
| I let my gun talk (2x) | |
| ( CHORUS: Young Noble & Willie D (2x) ) | |
| What would my gun say if it could talk to you | |
| Shut your muthafuckin mouth and put your hands to the roof | |
| I promise I won't shoot, give me all the loot | |
| Act cute, and I got a shot for all of you | |
| ( Kastro ) | |
| I'm at the end of my rope, I can't pretend I see hope | |
| Descendants of kings and queens, we can't even escape dope | |
| No need for a scape goat, we our own worst enemy | |
| Constantly fuckin ourself with no remedy | |
| Let me tell it, we ain't ready for war | |
| We ain't ready for what they got in store | |
| From all shores, Geto Boys and Outlawz, frontline soldiers | |
| In the midst of battle dumpin on em one-time rollers | |
| Hold up | |
| ( Young Noble ) | |
| Niggas dip when the flame spit, aim to hit | |
| Y'all can't take shit, we came to trip | |
| Blame your bitch for suckin on my homeboy's dick | |
| Said she got off a mill, huh, for ridin on my click | |
| That's what you get, never write a check with your mouth | |
| That your ass can't cash, I blast your ass | |
| And I ain't gotta flash a nigga, Willie D'll pop ya | |
| Fuck around, smoke your asses, nigga | |
| ( Kastro ) | |
| We got this muthafucka head on lock | |
| Until we see results, I don't care, we won't stop | |
| Hot shots, retarted, we ain't martyrs, we riders | |
| Holler if you hear us, man, I love it when they fear us | |
| Oh yeah, it's them niggas with them triggers that speak on it | |
| Six figure killers, whatever you own, we want it | |
| Willie D want it, and sucker, I do too | |
| Now what the fuck is you gonna do when pistols start talkin to you? | |
| ( Young Noble ) | |
| When you speak of dope, don't think of dope, think of me | |
| Y-o-u-n-g N-o to the b-l-e | |
| Eat MC's like BLT's, nigga please | |
| You a watergun soldier in blue fatigues | |
| Shoot to freeze, eternally you journey with me | |
| Losin DT's, right on the corner, a new street | |
| You choose defeat, I choose to win, you lose again | |
| Ain't life grim? I know it was meant | |
| ( CHORUS ) | |
| ( Spice 1 ) | |
| My own Glock pistol whipped a nigga in the head | |
| Cause he said, "I wouldn't buy the infrared" | |
| My Tec-9 jam and stutter when he get at a hoe | |
| So I filed down a pin, made him fully auto | |
| Kept talkin shit, seein haters come out and play | |
| Tell me he homesick, wanna go back to the Bay | |
| So we can ride around the hood and get at Mrs. Glock | |
| She was spittin back at us when you and me was on the block | |
| My two homies Smith & Wesson wanna fuck Nina Ross | |
| Said they gon' rape that bitch if she don't let em both toss | |
| My Uzi change his own clips for me | |
| Got my muthafuckin mind playin tricks on me | |
| It's sick, homie | |
| Speakin a worldwide language, gun talk, everybody listen | |
| Kissin and rubbin my pistol like a pretty picture | |
| Goin on a mission, killin niggas that's talkin shit, and | |
| No, we ain't missin, we aim straight and dippin | |
| Bossallini slash killer slash real nigga | |
| Fuck Tommy Hilfiger, my Tommy kill niggas | |
| Got me smokin on green leafs, thuggin until I'm red-rum | |
| Ridin on enemies, mobbin until my death come | |
| ( CHORUS ) |
| zuò cí : Cooper, DennismW. Green ... | |
| Dadadadadada | |
| Da da da da da | |
| Nineteenmuthafuckinninetynine | |
| Willie D | |
| Retreat or get hit | |
| I' m loved by few, hated by many | |
| But guess what? | |
| I don' t give a shit | |
| VERSE 1: Willie D | |
| Fuck it, in the bucket, ready for the drama | |
| Finna heat this muthafucka up like Texas in the summer | |
| Trauma comin like a cold blue, got your body shakin like jelly | |
| Leavin you smelly with bullet wounds to the belly | |
| My adversaries want me dead, my survival' s crucial | |
| I see caskets in your muthafuckin future | |
| If you' re neutral, stay the hell away from me, bitch | |
| Cause this rotten nigga' s ain' t never gonna be shit | |
| Mom did her best, but I guess her best wasn' t good enough | |
| Cause I stopped knockin bitches out when my nuts got bigger | |
| Bought me a gun and shot my first nigga | |
| Triggerhappy laws suck my cocksuckin balls | |
| I have the paramedics cleanin out your fuckin drawers | |
| They put my muthafuckin homie in the slammer, black | |
| For a stray shooter and a gramm of crack | |
| Damn, this track make me wanna eat it up and shit it out | |
| Pork made when I hit a cop | |
| I' m havin dreams of bloody pictures | |
| My adversary makin wishes | |
| But I ain' t sparin them bitches | |
| I let my gun talk | |
| Let it talk, nigga | |
| Let it, let it, let it, let it | |
| I let my gun talk 2x | |
| CHORUS: Young Noble Willie D 2x | |
| What would my gun say if it could talk to you | |
| Shut your muthafuckin mouth and put your hands to the roof | |
| I promise I won' t shoot, give me all the loot | |
| Act cute, and I got a shot for all of you | |
| Kastro | |
| I' m at the end of my rope, I can' t pretend I see hope | |
| Descendants of kings and queens, we can' t even escape dope | |
| No need for a scape goat, we our own worst enemy | |
| Constantly fuckin ourself with no remedy | |
| Let me tell it, we ain' t ready for war | |
| We ain' t ready for what they got in store | |
| From all shores, Geto Boys and Outlawz, frontline soldiers | |
| In the midst of battle dumpin on em onetime rollers | |
| Hold up | |
| Young Noble | |
| Niggas dip when the flame spit, aim to hit | |
| Y' all can' t take shit, we came to trip | |
| Blame your bitch for suckin on my homeboy' s dick | |
| Said she got off a mill, huh, for ridin on my click | |
| That' s what you get, never write a check with your mouth | |
| That your ass can' t cash, I blast your ass | |
| And I ain' t gotta flash a nigga, Willie D' ll pop ya | |
| Fuck around, smoke your asses, nigga | |
| Kastro | |
| We got this muthafucka head on lock | |
| Until we see results, I don' t care, we won' t stop | |
| Hot shots, retarted, we ain' t martyrs, we riders | |
| Holler if you hear us, man, I love it when they fear us | |
| Oh yeah, it' s them niggas with them triggers that speak on it | |
| Six figure killers, whatever you own, we want it | |
| Willie D want it, and sucker, I do too | |
| Now what the fuck is you gonna do when pistols start talkin to you? | |
| Young Noble | |
| When you speak of dope, don' t think of dope, think of me | |
| Young No to the ble | |
| Eat MC' s like BLT' s, nigga please | |
| You a watergun soldier in blue fatigues | |
| Shoot to freeze, eternally you journey with me | |
| Losin DT' s, right on the corner, a new street | |
| You choose defeat, I choose to win, you lose again | |
| Ain' t life grim? I know it was meant | |
| CHORUS | |
| Spice 1 | |
| My own Glock pistol whipped a nigga in the head | |
| Cause he said, " I wouldn' t buy the infrared" | |
| My Tec9 jam and stutter when he get at a hoe | |
| So I filed down a pin, made him fully auto | |
| Kept talkin shit, seein haters come out and play | |
| Tell me he homesick, wanna go back to the Bay | |
| So we can ride around the hood and get at Mrs. Glock | |
| She was spittin back at us when you and me was on the block | |
| My two homies Smith Wesson wanna fuck Nina Ross | |
| Said they gon' rape that bitch if she don' t let em both toss | |
| My Uzi change his own clips for me | |
| Got my muthafuckin mind playin tricks on me | |
| It' s sick, homie | |
| Speakin a worldwide language, gun talk, everybody listen | |
| Kissin and rubbin my pistol like a pretty picture | |
| Goin on a mission, killin niggas that' s talkin shit, and | |
| No, we ain' t missin, we aim straight and dippin | |
| Bossallini slash killer slash real nigga | |
| Fuck Tommy Hilfiger, my Tommy kill niggas | |
| Got me smokin on green leafs, thuggin until I' m redrum | |
| Ridin on enemies, mobbin until my death come | |
| CHORUS |