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Artist: Buddha Monk & Popa Wu f/ Babyface Fensta, Bash, Mozart, Q-Plex, Sleep Murda
Album:  Zu-Chronicles, Vol. 5: Back Then
Song:   Young Guns
Typed by: Tha Masta

[Intro: Babyface Fensta]
Yeah, General Monk Monk
Authentic poet, conductor of this orchestra
Mr. Fensta, Mr. Pink, young guns
Mozart, Boom Bash, check it

[Babyface Fensta]
Stop it, 'fore I pop off this rocket
Launch ya grill into orbit
You got a problem? I solve it
Revolver 'round you, son, this lead, lemme see you dodge it
You nine millimeters away, Smith & Wesson be snitching
Unless you potato they head, silencer, Raven seen everything
She about twenty-two or twenty-five
Look out for Mr. forty-four, he down with the law
And we all know Harry dirty, go 'head, act crazy
7:30 could be the time you expire
Chest on fire, with slugs from a fo'-five
Held by a livewire, hit you five places
But three out of five said you got hit in seven spots
And that it was a magum
On the other side of town, thirty-eight people picked up shells

[Chorus: Buddha Monk]
You could move if you choose, you losing this duel
If ya fake to the left, ya soul'll leave this room
You get picked off by my team, Legion of Doom
Young gun clip tripped ya hip and made you limp
So run, man, man, as fast as you can
Say my name three times and I enter your land
Candyman, Candyman, Candyman...

Aiyo I'm running through yo' set with them fucking chrome techs
With airholes that leaving bulletholes where yo' asshole used to be
You be my enemy, now what the fuck you thought?
You thought we can sit down and talk?
I roll with bandeleros that far from Marvel heroes
Eat more like super villains, we dressing
Know we deserve get 'em once we rock 'em
We drop 'em, to this sub level just to meet yo' maker
Satan be creator

Y'all niggaz gon' feel my pain
But I'm still in this cold world, not feeling ashamed
What you saying little man? Oh you feeling my chain?
I still got the aim that send something through yo' brain
Twelve gauge, pump, pump, let 'em have it
Savage, you could've been here, but wasn't quick to cock the ratchet
Hating-ass niggaz, saw my chain, tried to snatch it
Wrapped the plastic, that's the end of the package


[Sleep Murda]
Look here younging, don't get it twisted
Ya best bet to act like music and just listen
To the thunder from my hammers, my grammar be bullets
I see a target, I shoot it
Travelling the road into the reins, perfect my aim
Anything outside of fam, fair game
Flat lane, say my name
It's all for the money and fame, bitch nigga, is you with me? Ya punk

I got a lazy eye watching you
So you don't think I'm looking when I'm watching ya moves
Waiting for you to slip, and so patient waiting for you to trip
And I ain't talking 'bout a cruise
I'm talking 'bout kicking you in ya stomach 'til ya gotta go puke
Violence is amusing, cuz wilding is necessary
I leave you dead right here, fuck the cemetary
I'm the end of time if niggaz say they 7:30
New Mozart...

[Chorus 2X]

[Outro 4X: Buddha Monk]
Candyman, Candyman, Candyman...