Q-Plex - Young Guns lyrics

[Intro: Babyface Fensta] Yeah, General Monk Monk Authentic poet, conductor of this orchestra Mr. Fensta, Mr. Pink, young guns Mozart, Boom Bash, check it [Babyface Fensta] Stop it, 'fore I pop off this rocket Launch ya grill into orbit You got a problem? I solve it Revolver 'round you, son, this lead, lemme see you dodge it You nine millimeters away, Smith & Wesson be snitching Unless you potato they head, silencer, Raven seen everything She about twenty-two or twenty-five Look out for Mr. forty-four, he down with the law And we all know Harry dirty, go 'head, act crazy 7:30 could be the time you expire Chest on fire, with slugs from a fo'-five Held by a livewire, hit you five places But three out of five said you got hit in seven spots And that it was a magum On the other side of town, thirty-eight people picked up shells [Chorus: Buddha Monk] You could move if you choose, you losing this duel If ya fake to the left, ya soul'll leave this room You get picked off by my team, Legion of Doom Young gun clip tripped ya hip and made you limp So run, man, man, as fast as you can Say my name three times and I enter your land Candyman, Candyman, Candyman... [Q-Plex] Aiyo I'm running through yo' set with them f**ing chrome techs With airholes that leaving bulletholes where yo' a**hole used to be You be my enemy, now what the f** you thought? You thought we can sit down and talk? I roll with bandeleros that far from Marvel heroes Eat more like super villains, we dressing Know we deserve get 'em once we rock 'em We drop 'em, to this sub level just to meet yo' maker Satan be creator [Bash] Y'all n***as gon' feel my pain But I'm still in this cold world, not feeling ashamed What you saying little man? Oh you feeling my chain? I still got the aim that send something through yo' brain Twelve gauge, pump, pump, let 'em have it Savage, you could've been here, but wasn't quick to co*k the ratchet Hating-a** n***as, saw my chain, tried to snatch it Wrapped the plastic, that's the end of the package [Chorus] [Sleep Murda] Look here younging, don't get it twisted Ya best bet to act like music and just listen To the thunder from my hammers, my grammar be bullets I see a target, I shoot it Travelling the road into the reins, perfect my aim Anything outside of fam, fair game Flat lane, say my name It's all for the money and fame, b**h n***a, is you with me? Ya punk [Mozart] I got a lazy eye watching you So you don't think I'm looking when I'm watching ya moves Waiting for you to slip, and so patient waiting for you to trip And I ain't talking 'bout a cruise I'm talking 'bout kicking you in ya stomach 'til ya gotta go puke Violence is amusing, cuz wilding is necessary I leave you dead right here, f** the cemetary I'm the end of time if n***as say they 7:30 New Mozart... [Chorus 2X] [Outro 4X: Buddha Monk] Candyman, Candyman, Candyman...