Old man:
So... um, we're gonna cut sacks though
I've got myself a filipino, they are also good
But all I can say is it's a different style
Ok, we'll start now
Bambu:
Uh, this ain't a rap song
You know where you at homes
You know there's a hundred of us in that cadillac
You know Filipinos though
Might spill my 40 on the couch, my mom ain't trippin' though
Cos she got plastic wrapped around it like a key of coke
I'm from the blood of savages they brought to world fairs
Chained up to a pole for caucasians to point and stare scared
The one's who could not drop from the calibers the army had
So they made higher calibers: the .45 mag
White flag, drench it in blood until it go dark red
You ain't gonna know until that hundred of us is outside lit ready to bump heads
Hunt heads, that cannibal appetite buried way down in my DNA
Being a G and a target to DEA make it unlikely I give a fuck anyway
We are the reason marines wore a leather neck
I'm talking island style, we cut ear to ear, right-left
We call that a Manila-cut necklace
And I bet you my knife click in like one flip you see blade
Then I get Leo Giron on you gonna catch a veterano-ass fade
I'm just saying
Well, I guess it's a rap song
You know where you at homes
I'm feeling like Mike dream, holding a krylon when that mic on
My mommy told me that the bishop from the village church
Took young women to see God but he would rape them first
I'm such a Debby downer
The local out-of-towner
I already know the issues surrounding the native homies
Out in Little Earth, the homies in CenCal
The homies who stuck in the federal box but don't know when they get out
I come from Calcut just to scrap against the Spanish sword
And that's been with me since before they cut my momma's cord
Is that resistance?
I repeat words from my older tracks
And that ain't really different from these other fucker's dumb raps
Except the shit I say
Go rally folks like Abbie did
Ka Roger in a Dodgers jersey challenging all of your policies
And when I say Bernie, and mean burn that fucking CVS
Grab me a couple of 40's, I got a few homies the homies just laid to rest
And I bet my knife click, and like one flip you see blade
Then I go drunk uncle on you and go ghetto on your motherfucking face
I'm just saying
Old man:
You should see my aim to decapitate, I'll take your head off
Well after the show I might slash you
Bambu:
Yeah it's a rap song
You know where we at homes
We in the middle of literal poverty when we go back home
We immigrant minded
Criminal Science
Will bend the rules a bit
The news will trick these stupid kids into viewing the world through a crucifix
Lalabanan yan, itakas ang inosenteng mga pulitikong na kinulong
Grabe na dun sa ilalim ni Hefe, naibente
They have sold off another election to give to the riches and fill up our prisons and let them go at it
Turning these good kids into the victims
Old man:
When I lead with a thrust
When I want to take take half of your body, and perfect delivery
And I said that I cut you in your eyes
That is perfection
Bambu:
We gonna get it open like a butter fly knife (4x)
Butterfly knife (5x)
