Kunci: E minor•
Verse 1
Chorus: Killa Klan Repeated ? North Memphis,
South Memphis, ATL, Chicago
(cities differ for each chorus)
Verse 2
Em
[Juicy J] Late last night, I was
in the bed,
eyes red
Thinkin' about project pat,
G
and what the fuckin jury said
Bm
Em
Givin' him what they gave him,
Bm
Em
then they put him in handcuffs
Motherfuck dem laws,
Bm
Em
I'ma make you put yo hands up
Don't cross the line,
yellow take the police brand up
Norf Memphis and we klanned up
Em
Bm
I can be a leader,
Em
Bm
Em
bring the heata, like a farakhan
I can be a terroist to
the government like a taliban
Long as ya black,
and ya wrist they put they targets on
G
Watchin' niggas every move,
Em
G
tappin' niggas cell phones
Em
Bm
Em
Don't, Fall, for the okay, Don't,
Bm
Em
Call, and I'll bring the dope
And we gon' smoke we till
the break of dawn
G
Trapped in this hood where there
Em
G
ain't no motherfuckin bon
Em
Bm
Em
And to that officer I know
your stompin' ground here
But If you ain't from my hood,
Bm
get yo ass from round here
Interlude 1
Em
Verse 4
Em
[Crunchy Blac] First I'm gonna catch
the bitch
Then I'm gonna beat the bitch
Then I'm gonna bury bitch
G
Em
Shouldn't of been talkin' shit
G
Em
You knew who you was fuckin wit
Bm
Em
Bm
Fuckin wit the fuckin best
Em
She who you fuckin been
Now I'm aimin' at yo chest
This goes out to all of y'all
All of y'all be talkin' shit
Slip the clip up in the gun
Then commence to bust a nig
G
Em
Bust a nig, at ya dawg
Watchin' you niggas fall
Screamin' out like a bitch
Bm
Em
Bm
Mane that's just some petty
shit
Em
[Lord Infamous] I'm into blood
Verse 5
baths, I don't,
fine I'll punch ya
I'ma hit yo ass wit the fuckin
rocket launcher
Can you stand the pain,
insane, bounty hunta
Stop long, see ya pulp,
till ya unconscious
Throw you in the dumpsta, lord
catch a conquer
Lord don't, pistol play jump up,
if ya want ta
This is the unda, buried by yo momma
Bm
Em
Not only do I murder mane
I also am bomb ya
Verse 6
Verse 7
this,
you a juror and you on the stand
G
And you about the judge the
life of a black man
Bm
Young brotha from the hood
made it rappin' and
Wit a knot in his pocket
weighin least a grand
Em
Here's the story he got
caught wit some fire arms
G
By a crooked ass cop wit his siren awn
Bm
He was known as a felon
made it bigga than state
The whole case turned fed
made him lose his faith
Em
Picture this, now the judge he
got hatred for crooks
Because ten years ago he
was appointed by bush
Republican white man,
and he don't give a fuck
If the guns wasn't his that was
found in his truck
Prosecutors, shady lawyers,
mane who can you trust
All this palm greasy shit,
mane it's bigga than us
Make you wanna be like fuck it hit
the trunk of the car
Interlude 2
Deliberation it was time for the jury to star
Em
Verse 8
Verse 9
Em
Em
RIP jesse deane ~2002~
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