Victims

Lyrics

[Intro: P.R. Terrorist] Not enough liquor, man Go to the L.Q. or somethin' man This shit is crazy right here, yo The fuck... Terrorist shit, bitch Yo, yo, yo [Verse 1: P.R. Terrorist] Rap's so vicious, attack tracks like bags on bitches I'm sorry captain, but I be clapping snitches Bury a bastard in ditches, rap for riches Peel a cap back for my life and my little misses Big pushes from a seldom seen dream few choose to follow Either it's soul or the slugs and his toast was hollow They part team will follow Surround the enemy and talk about the shit tomorrow while I'm loading my cargo Stamp the barcode on the CDs and ship 'em out lovely Before the bootleggers try and dub me Came a long way from nothing and I still got a long way Who would of thought some day we'd have been making music It could of been all up in your pockets, rock it to your eye socket Don't knock it, please tell your man don't cock it Chances are slim, nigga take a glance at your kin I'm counting one, any more seconds is the end [Chorus: P.R. Terrorist] I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) When I find out I'm gon' make them feel the pain [Verse 2: P.R. Terrorist] I'm on the block like any man The difference between and you is I understand You asking questions, what's that shit up in my hand? Answer the questions, I fry that shit up in your pan, bitch-nigga Understand, I'm the P.R. T. Error Is This His lyrics are unique and his vocals are crisp Bang that shit in your jeeps or on the block with the fifth So, front on this, kid, front on this So I can let the shit that's in my hand, light up my wrist And let the shit that's in it, like eat through your chest I'm far from the best, I'm more like the worst you've ever seen Spit green phlegm from blunts, same color as my jeans And my boots will be brown, geared up with street dial Let the beats pound 'cause beef hound round the block This is Hip Hop, niggas fuck around and went pop [Chorus: P.R. Terrorist] I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) When I find out I'm gon' make them feel the pain [Verse 3: Just Da Barber] Come like the Phantom of the Opera from the Little Shop of Horror It be Da Barber, slash rapper, slash reporter I keep the revolver tucked near the waist, don't even bother With the all-starter, hold it down like Vince Carter Got it soul proper, cut your face like a chopper Be the heart stopper, on the drop-of-the-dime rocker Got it locked for all the Pradas, stash box under the rock Keep a hard Glock for hard knocks So when the ball drops, I lick off four shots for four cops Bounce out of state, open up four spots More props to game, blocks to claim Grow my own weed crops, spots the name [Outro: P.R. Terrorist] Knowledge to gain, Terrorist and Just re-aim And when find the muthafucka, we gon' make him feel the pain I feel victim to the game (who to name, who to blame)