zero st.

slaine

i'm a ill son of a gun

a raw dum-dum

you motherfuckers

come and get your 411

'til motherfuckers gotta call the 911

while i'm some lunatic giant gun

high on something; rum

some coke

kush - don't push my button

little faggot maggot

punk pussy

you're nothing

'cause we gon' stomp a hole in your ass

douse you with gas and light you 'til you roll in the grass

you ask what the fuck is wrong with me

and why the fuck do these sick kids sing along with me

i'm from sicker aves where nickel bags are doping up

fourteen track dimes roping it up

churches on the corner talking 'bout the pope and stuff

kids never saying that you're doing coke enough

i'm trynna scheme 'cause i'm broke as fuck

what are my chances? tell me i should go for what?

ayo

things ain't going so right when you're living on zero street

where the villains and the thieves and the heroes meet

and the kids are keeping leaned up the wall

no

things ain't going so right when you're living on zero street

where the villains and the thieves and the heroes meet

and the corner's filled with disillusionment

guns they have 'em in school

drug habits and cruel

faggots and fools in a zone done stabbing a dude

hookers and maggots with tools eating chinese food

back to the neighbourhood where it's grimy too

where police roll the streets like they 910