Artist: Charon Don & DJ Huggy f/ Killah Priest Album: Art of Life Song: Observers Typed by: DaSun Akbar Yea, uh huh Charon Don, hands down (Uh, Killah Priest the Iron Sheik, nigga!) Charon Don: Yo, you talking to a serious thug I get serious love Even when I stay in the pad Like period blood experience drugs Street grudge infamous buzz Sent from above Devils catch infinite slugs All my Rebels came from Zion bang with giants Made from the same grain that you gave the science Same all violence maintaining same all clients, lames deny it Why you think my brains defy it? Smoking backwoods in the back woods 'cause I'm that hood Strap in crack in my back, it could crack wood Take your life like crack could An epidemic; created by your government to get extra spinach Now I'm stressed to spit it Collect the check to live it I'm just blessed never pressed by the press or critics never the less Yo my rep is vivid Homey left with the best get with it Before it's too late I can either lose fate or choose to wait 'Cause the new debate is who will choose your fate And poor people don't make the decision Poor people just hate to be living (Chorus) x 2 On the roof puffing cigars look up at the stars It could be your man fucking your broad Passing you dust in your car Calling us the observers Silent weapons for these quiet murders Silent weapons for these quiet murders Killah Priest: I lay back shuffling thoughts while puzzling pieces Guzzling coughs while pressing my features On my cell, hell, number reads area code '412' A message from Charon "Priest come through" Wait a minute that's Pittsburgh Where niggas twist herb and sip suryp Flip birds and 'Do Not Disturb' on their door Every lips are heard better observe If you don't you get your shit split on the curb But I'm from New York where crews talk by who got caught By cops, who got shot? For coming a few short Bosses talk to bosses 'til they're concealed in the coffin Surrounded by graveyard mud in crucifixes crosses To my killas in Boston, my dealers and Oregon Hands out for the Lord and they reaching for offerings Angels crouching over us the streets are unable hold us up We in rat racing and the system is a cobra clutch Gangsters and Killas, the strangest of niggas Brushing shoulders with death and you think he's familiar To killah, straight shots AK pops Niggas yell "System is hell" Mirrors held between bars Nurses putting Vaseline on scars in jail When we hear Sirens coming from cars we bail niggas Yea, Killah Priest nigga, uh Charon the God (Chorus) x 2 Yo, yo, I'm in the alley way sipping Alazay like I'm out L.A. And you already know what I'm pulling out this spray Like you already know what I'm about to say When I flow I blow you best get out the way Like C-4 sisters wanna see more Nigga shook like seizures all my triggers seen war But this ain't gang bang shoot 'em up music This that P-Town dope-game shoot it up music From the Burg where dem Steelers is deep On the curb next to killas and freaks On the verge I'm ah be killing this beat Where sermons served from a real Killah Priest I might, in turn, kill a priest Charon Don is real as he speaks You as dumb as a blonde You can't chill wit the elite Fo'real, I'm so ill I wrote my will before I sleep Take a pill before I eat You still ignore the pork and meat Be the rich at heart, built a spliff, and spark Until I get a deal I really can't deal with the charts I'm in debt, If I'm sent the bill I rip it apart You impressed, If I get a mil I'm flipping smart Take it back to the ghetto where they need it the most Believe it!, I mean it, I'll leave it for the season old folks For the needy, but never greedy, my ingredients wrote I'll leave it in quotes, just so it's not a secrete to most (Chorus) x 2