The Game, Stacy Barthe - The Purge lyrics

We are dying, we are dying
Are we gonna die? Are we gonna die?
We are dying

Light a blunt, throw on Nas
Collect my thoughts
Blow the candles out as I
Contemplate in the dark
Dumpin' ashes on the fuckin' Time magazine
Tryna burn a hole between
Israel and Palestine
All this world news, all these dead bodies
All these kids dying, the talk of illuminati
As I'm murderin' ink
I get a call from Irv Gotti
Say "Keep spittin' cause when you do
It's like a 12-gauge shotty
Got machetes and them cannons loaded up
Got them Xany's and that lean in my cup
These politician's can come up missin'
I'm on a mission
You hear them gun shots
Now mother fuckers listenin'
Feel that you can take their life cause they
Ain't got a pot to piss in
Raise the Christian
Kill you for these kids as victims
Fuck the system
You give a kid 30 cent
And think you sponsor somethin'?
I feed a village by
Myself nigga Compton comin'
Purge

We are dying, we are dying
(Sometimes I wanna purge)
We are dying
(Sometimes I wanna purge)
We are dying, some times I gotta purge
(Sometimes I wanna)
We're living on a purge
(Sometimes I wanna)

What if we ran through Beverley Hills
Got 70 kills
Ridin' down Rodeo in the Chevy with pills
And pop one, load 12 slugs in the eagle
And shot one
Donald Sterling hopped in his Benz
I got one, beam on the back of his dome
Palm sweaty on the back of the chrome
That's my adrenaline
So we purge Sandusky, purge Zimmerman
Purge every mother fucker rapin' women in
Purge niggas killin' kids
Back to back in two vans
Me and my mercenaries, middle of South Sudan
Carryin' babies bodies
Long as I got two hands
Long as I got two feet
Millions and my crew deep
We purge for the families
They deaths ain't in vein now
Crash my ass
Niggas know who shot that plane down
298 innocent lives severed
Flyin' on Aaliyah's wings all
The way to heaven
And so we Purge

Imagine going to the stores
Without cops harrasing
Imagine Mike Brown walkin'
Them same cops just passed 'em
I'm smokin' hash
And let me ash it before I talk in past tense
I hope his mama tears is like
Acid to your fuckin badges
2 shots in his brain, 4 in his fashion
Thinkin' 'bout his casket in this Phantom
Swear I almost crashed it
That's why I'm headed to Ferguson
With this German luger
Cause I'm probably more like Nelson
Mandela than Martin Luther
More like Ice T than Ice Cube
I'm a cop killer
Murder all the cops
Then the cops will probably stop killin'
On my knees prayin'
Wish my nigga Pac was livin'
But he fell victim to the Rampart Division
Purge
Cops killed Biggie, cops beat up Rodney King
We tore up the city nigga, purge
Or just stand there like J. Cole and shoot at
Cops in the same spot till the case closed
Purge

This song is dedicated, to
My engineer Jus' wife
Carey Jean who
Passed away June 28th at 1.45
Pm to stomach cancer
2 days before his son Harlem's 11th
Birthday. Crazy how he mournin'
His wife's death and I'm celebrating
My son's life. I'll
Never understand death, shit. Sometimes it's
A struggle to understand life
Shit
Crazy. I'll never understand. Can't stop
Fightin' to survive though
But what we fightin' for when
We eventually all die though
Purge. Eventually we all victims of
The purge. Us killers
What's keepin' us alive. It's
A question nobody
Got the answer to. So PURGE!