BROOKLYN ZU - Cold World lyrics

rate me

People are dying, trying to get in the mind of these Brooklyn Zu Killas

But they don't know, it's a cold, cold, world

Travel through the mind of a killa, most killas

Is like known gorillas

Dead man can't tattle tell, I'm hungry as hell

And the streets ain't feeding me well

Killas coming off, all shapes and forms

You even got they young ones packing big Guard U Nows

And wasting no round, kick, fast'll blow you down

They love the sound, you see how that sounds?

You got pops outside getting his grind on

Got moms in the kitchen, and she cooking with her nine on

And they teach the babies to be gangstas

Got little young one, just waiting to bank ya

Niggas putting poison in drinks

So watch what you sip from, cause it could be your last drink

Blame it on insanity

What posess a grown ass man to kill his whole family

Look at little Bernard Guess

He was on his way home, with the chrome

I guess it just be all a reaction, the nigga started blasting

Leaving fragments, on the third rail

I guess he just was going through some things

Cause when the stick-up, he had to let his nine sing

It's a cold world, babe, it's a cold world, babe

It's a cold world, babe, oh, it's a cold world, babe

Let's make a motion picture, put Zu in a haunted house

Case of Olde Golde and cats with Guinness Stoute

Forty bust these, nigga mouth laced up

Put the stakes up, lock the door, board the windows up

Handcuff, reach up, silverplate mixed with weed and dust

It's digital, shit get critical

Trying to escape, but no way, we in the castle

Surrounded by a lake, alligators and rottweilers, no food to swallow

Naked bitch in the basement, it makes no sense

Paranoid, hearing wood from the floor making noise

Me and my boys, the bottom like basement

Don't like to be caged in, we kill a man

As I look into the mind of a killa, I see a DC sniper

Teaching the youth, how to snipe ya

I Scott Peterson your wife, for the right price

Give out shots like Colin Ferguson

For no purpose, I'm like Timothy McVay

I'm blowing up buildings, I'm killing men, women and children

I know a Sicilian, his name is Al Capone

He get you hit in your home, by Frank Nitty

He get the job done, for a buck fifty

K, Martin Luther King Jr. will be here today

If it wasn't for James Earl Ray

Even Marvin Gaye pops is a killer