Vak** - Cold War lyrics

[Intro] Chicago... Chicago... Chicago... Chi-town stand up It's the John Baptiste du Sable Expired gentle places High style environmental traits Savagely scarring entire mental states Some of the worlds tallest skyscrapers And rehabbed abandoned buildings drug empires renovated Spit it to higher innovate My name's symbolic where gang insignias is indigenous And we die for 'em the way our forefathers envisioned us Where middlemen get clapped up 'Cause two's a crowd and three-way division s**s Precision cut, and the world tax don't help 'Cause we adapt the workers Where 15-year-old foot soldiers clap to murk fiends Callously squeezing Empty the straps until the clips filing chapter 13 Stock up on long johns and bullet-proof appar-o-el And double-barrel shells. (Chicago... Chicago...) Kinda frigid and the heat is hell's parallel As modern-day pharaohs dwell As gang leaders control the streets from a narrow cell Home of disparaging flows To make you sh** your good pair of Girbauds (you hear?) We indecent propose We don't marriage propose Examine the logic that contaminates projects And turn men inanimate objects, homie Home is where the heart is f** around and make this chrome click And expect a visit from 16 slugs that's homesick Gang dominance prerequisite If you ain't affiliated, expect visits [Hook] It's the city with broad shoulders Home of those GDs and BDs and Vice Lord soldiers Whoever told y'all the cold war's over Tell 'em bring their a** to Chicago... Chicago... Chicago... [repeat] It's the backdrop to a 6 NBA title crown Bragging rights we're entitled now Playgrounds where slain hoop idols found The bridal gown Capone and the mafia married in Where the patience for political figures is very thin Colors is redundant Banging is determined by co*ked caps and hand signs From Elgin to up in the Hundreds Where GDs get love in abundance And El Rukns and Vice Lords was once government funded (Y'all don't hear me) A place where today you can win Lotto And then tomorrow Hammers'll turn you to a milk carton print model Cause that ferris wheel at Navy Pier You think it's gravy here 'Til the coroner's picking slugs out your baby's hair 11-9 Altgeld, lawless The state weight Perfected their hustle, gang's flawless To scrape plate Only short commons Warrants and court summons And smoked-out baby's moms you used to let snort something N****s here don't b**h up a truce They'll murk you Then console your moms like Bishop in Juice Where n****s like their p**y, pizza and their rims deep dish And some of the sickest spitters plotting on some creep ish The rap game's sheepish In the lost shepherd sense So I spit it out with a mouth full of antiseptic rinse Tryna change the scent of it From p**y to peppermints Y'all, bow down to the wrong city to rep against [Hook] It's the city with broad shoulders Home of those GDs and BDs and Vice Lord soldiers Whoever told y'all the cold war's over Tell 'em bring their a** to Chicago... Chicago... Chicago... [repeat x 2]