Tears Of A Killa / W.c.Verse One: W.C.Our Father, Who Art in Heaven, Hallowed Be Thy NameI bow to you with a heart full of painTear stains, Khaki suited and off the chainEyes jaded, straight exhausted from the gist-nameI play it calm but the truth is;I'm losing my mind, and hoping you can help me through thisAll these snitches, punk tricks, Cheddar twistingPhony-ass niggaz in this Record BusinessHold down, now let me take my handkerchief and tie it around meLake it or pancake it, then slide on my bountiesRide on, grind on, say a prayer with my strapHit the street and get mines onBring new heat, swing through streets; I want it but can't stopChopping and moving this D, I'm in too deepndele ndele, rips and dime moves, build with a niggaFeel the tears of a killerChorus: Butch CassidyI got the blues, how shall I be loose?Which row to choose, something confuseLa la la la la la la(Tears of a Killer, my life, the tears of a Killer)Can't go away, with no delayBack in the day, my mind was made just astrayLa la la la la la la(Tears of a Killer, my pain, the tears of a Killer)Verse Two: W.C.Dear Mr. President, Chief of Police, the DA FirmThe Judge of the Commonwealth, this concernsI'm from the Bandanna EmpireJust one of the many of young riders caught at the crossfireA product of my environment, rip riders and bloodsBut to your perceive, that's a thugBut in all
actuality, we're two of the same kindCause your war ain't no different that minesWe're both wave a flag signsNigga that what's the difference, we do drive-bys, you do fly-bysRing the alarm, show me the info's of One Time SwarmyCause like Ali said Fuck your Army!I'd rather slang Fuck All Y'allCause the President ain't never took a trip to my hoodAnd around here, we've been at war for yearsFeel the tears!Chorus: Butch CassidyInterlude: W.C.You know what I'm saying?It ain't nothing but my pain, it ain't nothing but my painMy struggle, your struggle, tears - of a killer!Verse Three: W.C.Uhh! now this is for them niggaz from around the wayCooking work up and getting it, my holster affiliatesLittle homies, big homies, kinsThat meet my niggaz find lives in them level four penitentiariesTrust me dog, though my poster is on the wallI ain't forgot, I still got love for y'allThough haters wanna adjust me, cause my wrist is crispyPlease believe it, these cameras don't mean shit to meSide by side, we're all used the same blightsCame up together from the same bytesRiding on the back of the Ice Cream trucks and gold carsThen when the money came in, done fucked over the whole cardsNow, it's every nigga for his self, cut throatsDamn! Loc, where did the love go?On behalf of the Gs rested in peace, I had to speak on itTogether we're the shit, don't sleep on itChorus: Butch Cassidy