ILL BILL, Q-Unique, Sick Jacken - Apocalypse Now lyrics

Religion makes God the biggest reason for war
Before money and the power
Your hour of death was blessed a little more
Rigor Mortis
Bullets come like a killer chorus
Humming songs to the afterlife
Like psycho artists
My mind roams where the street’s heart is
I give my life to my people till
I end up in a stone garden
Or hanged before I take a king’s pardon
If the grounds keep it street style
Will bet my the crowd it’s started
My sick squadron raised in Hell’s cauldron
In the belly of the beast where
We’re murdering a pig sergeant
Blue soldiers walk in red
Paths with death masks
We’ll see it all in ceremony
Massacres with bloodbaths
As long as Apocalypse Now
Surreal battles in the end of time
Done Francis Coppola style
Ain’t no other way of stopping this trial
The dark only with the lights
Till my last breath i’m wiping 'em out

Stolen black American Express card
Drop bombs with it god did it
Here to blow up your fucking cars with it
Life’s cheap over here
I go to sleep no problem
After revolvers blow out what’s
In between your ears
Scream to your ancestors
I pray to energy in the shape of an AK-47
Blam faster than hand-cannons
Damned families curse armies, kidnap generals
Watch 'em drown in the concrete
Grim reaper with the street sweeper
When I creep up around the bend
Found ten million in a green truck
The war chest, more death, more murder
More meth
More money, more weapons, more gangs
More sex
Morphine, methadone, heroin, and Viacom
Anti-brainwash, I leave the ground
Poured with riot cops
Notorious, scandalous, keep on banging, bitch
Ill Bill psycho-realm
Brooklyn to Los Angeles

The ghetto bird flies over the depths of
Extremes in search of a fugitive
Cornered with coke and burst
Into a shooting fit
Q the urban guerilla trained in the projects
Heaven’s terrorist
Forever your God gets bomb threats
The face of the trifle spic
The brain of a rifle click
The rain and the lightning split on
The frame of a sniper’s spit
The camouflage blam from the hands
Of God withstanding y’all
To be in branded in the
Sand by the vandal squad
I’m a freedom fighter with a
Weakness for Brazilian waxed putas
The back of the botanica
They got the block taped off with no
Ways to escape or break off
In a chase with the state porks
Have walked into a face-off
Their eyes wide, they might try it
Cut the gun and get their sides fired
And if they’re gonna run they’re
Only gonna die tired
Q-Unique the evil Anakin eyes bloodshot red
Face your demise on the other
Side of my gunshot dead