Guns For Life (feat. Styles P)

Ghostface Killah

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    I love my heat, yeah, youknowhatitis
    You know it stay hot, just a little tale about my gun
    Feel the neck on that nigga, that's my homey, uh, yo, aiyo
    I kept the same gun for nine years, navy blue glock
    In the blue safe, right upstairs
    I make sure that little nigga stay warm, tuck him under my pillow
    Case the robbers come, I gotta perform
    Kiss him night-night, mwuah, read him bedtime stories

    Times I just stared at him, the glock forty
    His belly stay full, and he on a strict diet
    I feed him lead, he good, he at ease when fired
    Go to sleep mr. Gat, I had him doing doubles for two days
    And this the only way I get back
    Besides changing your diaper, me and your click
    Got niggas defecating in shit bags, they full of shit

    Yeah, that still my nigga though, son
    I can't live without him
    Special relationship with that muthafucka
    You feel me right? You feel me, ghost?
    Wu-block, uh

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    I known him ever since he was nine, now he 22
    Thinking he 45, that nigga is live
    Like to come with me everywhere when I drive
    Trouble maker same time, keep you alive
    His ego too big, he be getting pumped
    I told him chill, he said it's better when you getting jumped
    No matter how you face it, now matter where you place me

    Since the day that I was born, I ain't have safety
    He went from y.o. To staten, that's real talk
    He hung with puff, he was with shyne in club new york
    Now he with me, he hurt him like angelina jolie
    With them babies, I raised them up from 380's
    I raised them up from 380's, I raised them up from 380's
    That wu-block shit, nigga, yeah

    I still pour liquor after I pop bottles
    Got a friend named deuce nickel, the cops got him
    Back then when the coke price was rock bottom
    I robbed a lot of spots with him, and I'm not lying
    Then I got knocked with him and the cops kept him
    I reminisce and get high over a lot of weapons
    Got a friend named nine, caught up in the murder one
    I ain't seen him since, cuz my man had to murder son
    Homey named thirty-eight, he pop with him
    And it ain't too often that he's not with him
    Call 'em your guns, I call 'em my friends
    Pop it off or keep it tucked, guess it all that depend, yeah

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