Artist: Timbo King f/ Castro, Self Rachet
Album:  56 Platoon, Vol. 1
Song:   War Time
Typed by: Tha Masta

[Intro: Timbo King]
Yeah, B.V.I., yeah, Bo

[Timbo King]
Yo it's war time, like we fightin' in Baghdad
Women you tryin' to have, I done had that, done bagged that
The blood father, call me Charles Drew
You need more than F.O.I. to guard you when I barge through
Producers wanna charge fifteen G's
Come to their studio, with fifteen GD's
Bite the bullet, put a hit out on the President's head
For the pain and the bloodshed, a wiseman had once said
"It ain't over 'til pronounced dead"
My soul belongs to the most high
I tell the truth, shame the devil with the most lies
Listen close, you might learn somethin'
Maccabeez start the revolution, burn somethin'
Dry bones in the hood and they lackin' knowledge
Got dropouts, back in college
Grown talk, I ain't speakin' childish
Either you with me or against me
No Kuntakente's or Kizzy's
Fear of a black planet since the '60s
Yeah...

[Self Rachet]
Fifty niggaz to push me, a hundred more to make me jump off
Daddy, that's when the guns dust off
I keep it gutter, rock the block with a boxcutter
German Luger slug, I put a hole through ya
How real is that? Quick to set it off
Take the 1-2-0 ammo for the whole force
Put slugs through ya windows, I make ya wife divorce
Niggaz make moves when the heat spray
Merk money in the hallway of the PJ's
I keep it gutter, nigga, plus my heat don't standby
When from Muslim to Rasta to Bloods to bad bwoi
What a foul guy, I have talkers pushin' ki's to Gotti
'87 niggaz, drop Maserattis
Stuntin', while y'all niggaz frontin'
P-City, twenty G, take you Uptown to meet Jose

[Castro]
It's the return of the gangsta Castro, nigga, big homey
If you don't know you better ask somebody
How I get it crackin', four-fifth, Mac-11
Leave yo' chest exposed like Janet Jackson
I'm a son of a gun, respect my pops
56, Church Ave, respect the block
Where a hood nigga hang at, hood niggaz bang at
The dice get shooken, Dutches get split
We don't argue 'bout dollars, money ain't shit
We walk on hundreds, cruise in the latest
Whip the band all grey, blue in the face
Niggaz slept on Cas' and I blew in they face
Man, I been on tracks, you hours late
No show like Dylan, need a hit, just dial on,             1-800-I-GOT-BARS
And I'm good with that razor blade, you leavin' with scars
And I don't wear pink, I'm not on that faggot shit
You too pretty to bang, so give up or shoot
Don't wanna knuckle up and scuff ya boots
Man, you beggin' for a deal, nigga I'm sleepin' with loot

[Outro: Self Rachet]
Yo, now we ownin' the thing