Win The War Lyrics

Grip Grand Win The War

Verse 1:
We came to splash on the scene this year!
Cookin' audio crack, back to convert some new fiends
this year.
We Splack Packin' on 'em. Accurate verse, spit a razor.
"Subscribe to the Broke Times—Don't get the paper."
This is '89, sucker, so duck! We want the cones to pop
And blow the speaker-box outta your truck.
Time's up, hard rocks, too. We walk to
The beat of a different drummer
In the winter, and summer when it's hot, too.
Do what I got to.
Make it brand new like Lord J, Alamo, Grand Pu, and
Sadat do.
Don't let 'em spot you…
"Yo, there that motherfucker go. I told you I was gonna
get you."
Got you!
Try it, man. Strong-fist Grip, call me Iron Hands.
Hop out the fryin' pan
Into the lion's den.
Piratin' my flows 'cuz they know that my styles have
been
Nuts like my balls, 'cuz you all keep your eye on them.
This is supreme shit, Rec League home-team shit.
Think I'm not? Y'all got denial like Egypt.
It's no secret. When the time comes, it'll be Grip
Risin' from the slums like a phoenix.
You wanna get sixteen on the remix?
Hit me up. "666" is the prefix.
Deep in the B which
Is my hometown, never leave it,
Writin' Grip Grand in the ce-ment.
What!

Chorus:
Broakland stay up late and get drunk.
Go to work still smellin' like skunk.
'Cuz I got a half-ounce in the trunk,
Man, I plead the fifth. I'm in the lab like a Petri
dish,
Singin'
"This is the way we win the war!
This is the way we win the war!
Who's that?"
Broakland, they want more!
"Move back!"
They want the hardcore!

Bridge:
Did you really think you could compete with me?
I would never let a wack rapper speak to me.
You're not even at your peak, you need
To be backin' up, and plus practicin' frequently,
Because
"This is the way we get the dough!"
Unless you downloaded the flow, and if so, you better
"Move back!"
(Yo, son, you need to back the f..ck up.)
You don't want to
"Lose that!"
No, no, no, no!

Verse 2:
It's no end to the madness.
We slide out of town
In a cloud of alcohol fumes, blunt smoke, and bad
checks.
I told son wait the weekend to cash it,
Then split with the dough and no forwarding address.
Exit!
Get into the booth on some next shit.
Hectic! Better get insured—call Progressive.
Yes it's
Closer to the edge than "The Message".
Broakland die tryin' to get rich.
I guess Grip is platinum if less is more,
'Cuz I ain't sold jack in the record store.
I'm just tryin' to make miracles.
I'm also tryin' to get a new car—
If Jesus walks, I ain't tryin' to make spirituals.
We live in a scary world. Let's take it back!
'89, Junior High, Ice Cube had a jheri curl.
New Edition "Mr. Telephone Man" and "Candy Girl"…
Cool it now. You need to back that ass up like
Juvenile!
Ha!

(Chorus)