My Album, "The one they call AfterDeath -Unknown Soldier coming soon"
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #1,710
Peak in subgenre #953
Author
AfterDeath
Uploaded
November 21, 2003
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.2 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
just had to do it
Lyrics
GuN TRaFFiC
A.D.:
The tools’ll pull your cavaties like dental utensils
Cause the gun’ll pump you fulla lead like mechanical pencils
It’s relentful, damage contentful, bandaged suspenseful
Lent ampish til handwritten banished spits spilled
I enter a class fight with no flash light cause I’m strapped like
Double vail-crow on a black night
Despite the lyrics I fight the spirits
Write shit tight to steer with sight
But I’m hype to hear it
(THIS IS GUN TRAFFIC)
When shells hit the floor that the shotgun blast wit
Hell split in four but it’s the close of the casket
(GUN TRAFFIC)
Come in terms with the heat but the clips is drastic
Wave the gun in the street until the hold-up’s tragic
Chorus (By Cobra):
(GUN TRAFFIC)
I put weapons to jaws
It’s rush hour, they stuck in traffic and all, so I’m jackin their cars
(GUN TRAFFIC)
I’m jackin cash and their cards
Til I’m decked to the floor, wearin the most expensive sets of velour
(GUN TRAFFIC)
Mackin plenty a whores on their track and pimpin em more
Leavin with stacks of their cash in my drawers
(GUN TRAFFIC)
Havin sex with your broad strapped with a tech and a four
Leavin you stashed in the back on the floor
Cobra:
(Cobra) Equipped with neck bling and a nice watch
And funded by that shit I pass fiends in the night spots (Cobra)
I gotta to keep my aim keen for the right shots
Because I X Men with the beam like I’m Cyclops
Niggas and bitches love me, but then some’ll think
That I pose a threat, and then it tempts em to hate
Well these men bound to leave with their skin torn away
When I shoot from long range like I’m Tim Hardaway
When it comes to these haters, I gotta Sun em like Phoenix
I got a gun wit a beam, that'll leave em under the cement
And these fellas wanna hate? Well these fellas gonna hope
That they can keep talking shit wit a shell in their throat
Mothafuckas keep talking, we keepin the heat sparkin
To Bring Down Your House like Latifah and Steve Martin
You don’t wanna catch a piece from a piece that lose heat often
So you in deep coffin, mom look into peace offering
Repeat Chorus
A.D.:
Slugs blanket your chest~ bombs explode in wet fumes/...
kuz i'll make your CLIPSE fall like pushin NEPTUNES//
this is a fighters clan!` Reduced to slighter strands/...
kuz my bullets bounce from buildin to buildin like spiderman//
Invade this aggression depression its paid confession/...
I might just subtract one from the nine like a second grade math lesson//
the heats restin' with the dash "COOKED UP"/...
but i'll make ya tools hit the floor like plumbers doin push-ups//
Cobra:
Yeah it might seem one way
So you think we’re fuckin around, until we start the fight-scene gunplay
These bullets bound to catch ya
Rounds’ll put you in a stretcher
And you’ll get split something like bananas in an ice cream sundae
I pump nines and trigger heat with the hammers
I been Hawkin…
Mistaken sometimes for Pistol Pete from Atlanta
But some how, I still can easily manage
To squeeze and then damage
Any nigga who steps to me is leavin in bandages
Motha fucka
::chorus::
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