Snow Beach - La Coka Nostra, Ill Bill, Slaine

People sometimes don’t care, they don’t —

They, they’re so busy with themselves

They’re so busy growing, so busy trying to be something

And they forget, until something tragic happens in their lives

Until they lose somebody or they lose something in their life

They say, «why didn’t I do the right thing?

Why didn’t I say what I always wanted to say?»

I’m trying to say it now while I am alive

I was taught to die with my boots on my enemy’s throat

Not slumped over in my wife’s lap like Kennedy’s dome

But you don’t get to choose death unless your serenity’s broke

Loss of suicidal hanging from your sanity’s rope

So we live, like the shadow of death is upon us to the fullest

Fuck with us, you’ll go from full of shit to full of bullets

We the masters of the darkest of arts

In the shroud of the shadow till the hellfire is sparked

The revolution will be classified

This song is programmed to self-destruct

See you in the afterlife

See you in the promised land of milk and honey

Where we kill for money

Where every $ 100 bill is stained with guilt and bloody

Where every single truth is tainted by lies

Where every pistol shoot hatred like the blaze in the sky

Composed like a symphony, orchestrating the crimes

Spraying the nine, explode instantly, taking what’s mine

La Coka Nostra fleece, exclusive like Snow Beach

Shooters with chrome heat, 40-Belows and gold teeth

Rather turn in my grave than turn into a slave

Committing murders in a haze

Empty these burners in your face, homie

Coka Soldier fatigues, exclusive like Snow Beach

Shooters with chrome heat, 40-Belows and gold teeth

Fillets of black, spilling militant rap, buck 'em

Have 'em kicking the bucket like a Gilligan hat

Polo loco on my torso, know no one before me

Stutter Step 6, stumbling with a stogie

I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi and a Ralph Lauren Snow Beach

Monogamous mostly, condom glowing

Eighty-eight, Daisy Age, pot holes

Grumpy cut, low scarf, fly lows

Chronologic objects, gossip with the goblins

Cottage where the God is, gunning by the garbage

Knowledge is infinite, militant, dividends

Different, wear slippers by Michelin

Groups in they group, minute-made soup

This ain’t my debut, niggas ain’t new

La Coka Nostra, gorra cola conga

All my nieces look like Dora Dora

Double L general, thirsty Puerto Rican

No mercy worth me, knock your fucking teeth in

I rock the Polo hoodie while I lay tracks with Marco

Lay sacks till my fingertips darker than choco

Used to hang around Puerto-Rocks calling me Flacko

Saying, «Uno ocho siete» on an undercover narco

Early on it was apparent I was off to a wack start

Born with yellow teeth, red eyes, and a black heart

But things changed, homie, now I got a black card

American Express, pushing heroin for less

Packing metal in this bitch, I’m the Devil in the flesh

Yeah, my attitude, it stinks, but I’ve never been as fresh

I’m the bad guy that they ain’t got the evidence to get

The dollar’s in the toilet and the president is dead

Said the world ain’t got no skies, look at Heaven, is it red?

Triple sixes follow me, I’m banging sevens in my bed

I’m a Christian, listen to me, hang a reverend by his head

Dangled by his neck, tangled in my fucking spider web

I’m an alpha male, put a gun in the mouth of men

Up inside the Polo ranch and knocking off a Ralph Lauren

I’m a low life, left my old life, the green white with a gold stripe

Old type with the OE, I’m a OG that you don’t like