The Purge - The Game, Stacy Barth

We are dying, we are dying

Are we gonna die?

Are we gonna die?

We are dying

Light a blunt, throw on Nas, collect my thoughts

Blow the candles out as I contemplate in the dark

Dumpin' ashes on the fuckin' Time magazine

Tryna burn a hole between Israel and Palestine

All this world news, all these dead bodies

All these kids dying, the talk of illuminati

As I’m murderin' ink, I get a call from Irv Gotti

Say «Keep spittin' cause when you do it’s like a 12-gauge shotty

Got machetes and them cannons loaded up

Got them Xany’s and that lean in my cup

These politician’s can come up missin', I’m on a mission

You hear them gun shots, now mother fuckers listenin'

Feel that you can take their life cause they ain’t got a pot to piss in

Raise the Christian, kill you for these kids as victims

Fuck the system

You give a kid 30 cent and think you sponsor somethin'?

I feed a village by myself nigga Compton comin'

Purge

We are dying, we are dying

(Sometimes I wanna purge)

We are dying

(Sometimes I wanna purge)

We are dying, some times I gotta purge

(Sometimes I wanna)

We’re living on a purge

(Sometimes I wanna)

What if we ran through Beverley Hills, got 70 kills

Ridin' down Rodeo in the Chevy with pills

And pop one, load 12 slugs in the eagle

And shot one, Donald Sterling hopped in his Benz

I got one, beam on the back of his dome

Palm sweaty on the back of the chrome

That’s my adrenaline

So we purge Sandusky, purge Zimmerman

Purge every mother fucker rapin' women in

Purge niggas killin' kids, back to back in two vans

Me and my mercenaries, middle of South Sudan

Carryin' babies bodies, long as I got two hands

Long as I got two feet, millions and my crew deep

We purge for the families, they deaths ain’t in vein now

Crash my ass, niggas know who shot that plane down

298 innocent lives severed

Flyin' on Aaliyah’s wings all the way to heaven

And so we Purge

Imagine going to the stores without cops harrasing

Imagine Mike Brown walkin', them same cops just passed 'em

I’m smokin' hash, and let me ash it before I talk in past tense

I hope his mama tears is like acid to your fuckin badges

2 shots in his brain, 4 in his fashion

Thinkin' 'bout his casket in this Phantom, swear I almost crashed it

That’s why I’m headed to Ferguson with this German luger

Cause I’m probably more like Nelson Mandela than Martin Luther

More like Ice T than Ice Cube, I’m a cop killer

Murder all the cops, then the cops will probably stop killin'

On my knees prayin', wish my nigga Pac was livin'

But he fell victim to the Rampart Division, purge

Cops killed Biggie, cops beat up Rodney King

We tore up the city nigga, purge

Or just stand there like J. Cole and shoot at cops in the same spot till the

case closed, purge

This song is dedicated, to my engineer Jus' wife, Carey Jean who passed away

June 28th at 1.45 pm to stomach cancer, 2 days before his son Harlem’s 11th

birthday.

Crazy how he mournin' his wife’s death and I’m celebrating my son’s

life.

I’ll never understand death, shit.

Sometimes it’s a struggle to

understand life, shit crazy.

I’ll never understand.

Can’t stop fightin' to

survive though, but what we fightin' for when we eventually all die though,

purge.

Eventually we all victims of the purge.

Us killers, what’s keepin' us

alive.

It’s a question nobody got the answer to.

So PURGE!