Yubitsume
Verse [Plasthic Slash]:
It was all sunny side up till bad eggs started scrambling
For wealth, cards they were dealt pushed em to the art of gambling
Street niggas, last to run, grasp a gun better than knowledge
Eighteen, strapped like The A-team, rather chase cheddar than college
I no know whether na courage to pitch white on pitch black nights
Tryna be Barksdale, many cats fail to reach that height
Ending up in shallow graves, swimming with fishes or even in ditches
Cross 'em once, you fucking done, lucky ones? They leave ’em with stitches
Getting niggas for that pound of flesh, similar to slave trade
By blasting rounds from tecs that really lift bodies like grave raids
Another one bites the dust
Fred in the Amazon forest without mosquito repellant, another young life is lost
Drug Enforcement corrupt, give their capo enough cash
Then flood the streets with coke like a coca cola truck crash
Nunchucks, gun tucked inside the waist band like a dress shirt
Young thugs go from being in safe hands to laying in fresh dirt
Or safe hands to yubitsume, you sick dudes may try that part
That's when they cut up the little finger like Arya Stark
To show remorse to the boss for the cause, judge if it's sensible
Guns bringing danger, one in chamber could be lodged in the ventricle
Even if you move in stealth and hit em below the belt, they won’t buckle
Chase digits in grey fitteds, face rigid, they don't chuckle
Split your sides, with an axe for thinking shit is a joke
Straight shots, top marksmen that never mix spirit with coke
Trail your brothers, same niggas that hail your mother mama di mama
When you fresh to death will dance on your grave, famadihana
It vex boys, the exploits of bands of robbers will rock the country
With lethal weapons like Mel and Danny Glover to rob the hungry
Pump a nigga full of lead till silence, some kinda alchemy
Slumber quicker, drool on bed till sirens, son fly tha balcony
Unguarded utterances aimed at folks armed to the teeth
Is foolhardy, they'd raid a pool party bringing harm from the streets
Sick pups who blast gats, vermin, young misfits with nuff lead
Stick ups for fast cash, turning long biscuits to short bread
Kalashnikovs harass the gods that pass in drops and blast hip hop
Goons flex with Damascus cops, won't rest till Assad is popped 18
Their names hold weight like Big Pun's, on cold days they grip guns
On roadways, they stick nuns then blow babes with thick bums
Try to boast you nice with toast and they need a guy to post
They'll only ask if you got a body as if you look like a ghost
Think any of them be scared to start shit? no rhypophobia
They'd pull hits at science colloquia or as you recite the Gloria
In evening mass and leave your bleeding ass few pews from the altar
Or while you hiking in the woods, that's good food for the vulture
There was this young lad, thought he a hard man with nothing to prove
Fell out with an underboss after assaulting his crew
The underboss appeared at his wedding, whispered something to goons
And street sweepers lifted him up as he was jumping the broom
Quick to spark the tech, the biscuit not a gingerbread being
When you’re marked for death, you really spot the infrared beam
On some part of anatomy, you try not to get a heart attack
But it’s no use, dumbo, when the gun go rat-a-tat