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I’m not sure if I was drunk at the time but I told someone that I would actually tattoo the first verse of this song on my back just because I like it so much. Its like the track wrote itself. My favorite line was “They gun running the continents, don’t give a fuck what the conflict is”. That deserves a whole song on its own to explain an elaborate because the subject makes me sick! (Watch Lord of War with Nick Cage for a teaser on that subject).
My goal was to make this track timeless, I didn’t want to drop any names as far as who I was talking about. I made it generally about the biggest gangsters on the planet, the most vicious goons, criminals, murders, skips, skags, skallywags, hoolie hoops, heehaws and heifers to ever walk the earth (that was my Dave Chappelle impersonation). At the end the song you will already know who I mean but in case you missed it the final vocal loop says it all. Stay sharp. There’s more of us then them… but like Dr. King says “The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by bad people, but the silence over that by the good people.”
Lyrics:
(Intro)
We Gotta break em down (x3)
We gotta break em, break em,
(Hook)
Break em down / Fuck em up
Or Watch your back / its not enough
They got more guns than you, they got more goons than you
The biggest gangstas on the planet
With damaging canons, aiming and causing famines
The havoc is fucking savage
These bastards will damage families, causing calamities
Multiple tragedies,
Murder and homicide, rape, insanity
Effortless pestilence
This some Book of Revelation shit, apocalypse
Exorcist, 666, they got your wrist
They microchip the populace,
They stalking us or Glocking us
Or watching us through monitors
Its politics not calculus
They got you, bitch
So watch your shit, its like we all some hostages
An empire of charlatans
Puppets call themselves Congressmen
Dictators and Parliaments
Hustling all they armaments
They gun-running the continents
Don’t give a fuck what the conflict is
They got more guns, they got more goons
They got more ways to torture you
Make you disapear for a year or two
Ransack your place take your cash and jewels
Aint no burglary, don’t you see
You made a satanic deal you see
Gave up your life and your liberty
And now they fuck you in the ass repeatedly
(hook)
Colombiano de pura cepa
Por eso no respetan
Ando en el aeropuerto
Los tombos se ponen fresco
Siempre esculcan los nuestro
Andan buscando el queso
O la coca, contrabando, lavando pesos
Quien sabe si yo lo hago
Porque yo nunca confieso
Yo no le canto a los tombos,
Mi nombre no es Elvis Crespo
Yo soy un parce bien quieto
Hago lo mi en secreto
Nunca doy papaya,
la vaina es no quedar preso
Porque pal preso se pone espeso
El presupuesto es romperte los huesos
Partirte el pescuezo
Quemarte los sesos
Si no confiesas a las malas
Jamas balas, pana de un Smith & Wesson
Vistes eso?
Solo el comienzo del proceso
Homie, siempre este pilas, no tropiezo
Ojo donde tu caminas,
y en quien tu confías
Esos animales no creen en dios
No hay que dudarlo
Asta Cristo lo juzgaron,
Lo abusaron y colgaron.
(Outro)
The State is diabolical
Always has, always will be
