Little Weapon

Now, lil' Terry got a gun he got from the store
He bought it with the money he got from his chores
He robbed the candy shop, told her «Lay down on the floor
Put the cookies in the bag, take the pennies out the drawer»
Lil' Khalil got a gun he got from the rebels
To kill the infidels and American devils
A bomb on his waist, a mask on his face
Prays five times a day and listens to heavy metal
Little Alex got a gun he took from his dad
That he snuck into school in his black book bag
His black nail polish, black boots, and black hat
He gon' blow away the bully that just pushed his ass
I killed another man today
Shot him in his back as he ran away
Then, I blew up his hut with a hand grenade
Cut his wife throat as she put her hands to pray
Just five more dogs; then, we can get a soccer ball
That’s what my commander say
How old? Well, I’m like ten, eleven
Been fighting since I was like six or seven
Now, I don’t know much about where I’m from
But I know I strike fear everywhere I come
Government want me dead, so I wear my gun
I really want the rocket launcher, but I’m still too young
This candy give me courage not to fear no one
To feel no pain and hear no tongue
So I hear no screams, and I shed no tear
If I’m in your dreams, then your end is near, yeah!
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We’re calling you
Little boy, if the guns are just too tall for you
We’ll find you something small to use
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We need you now, blaow!
Astaghfirullah
Astaghfirullah
Astaghfirullah
Astaghfirullah
Astaghfirullah
Now, here comes the march of the boy brigade
A macabre parade of the toys he made
In shemaghs and shades, who look half his age
About half the size of the flags they wave
And camouflage suits made to fit youths
'Cause the ones off the dead soldiers hang a lil' loose
Where AK47s that they shooting into heaven
Like they tryna kill a Jetson, the struggles, little recruits
Cute, smileless, heartless, violent
Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish ways
Can’t write their own names
Or read the words that’s on they own graves
Think you gangsta? Popped a few rounds?
These kids’ll come through and murder a whole town
Then sit back and smoke and watch it burn down
The grave gets deeper the further we go down, it’s…
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We’re calling you
Little boy, if the guns are just too tall for you
We’ll find you something small to use
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We need you now, blaow!
Imagine if I had to console
The families of those slain I slayed on game consoles
I aim, I hold right trigger to squeeze
Press up and Y, one less nigga breathe
B for the bombs, press pause for your moms
Make the room silent, she don’t approve of violent games
She leave; resume activity
Scarred and blue heart, of hard, sharp wizardry
On next part, I insert code
To sweeten up the little person’s murder workload
I tell him he work for CIA with A
A operative; I operate this game all day
I hold the controller connected to the soldier
With weapons on his shoulder
He’s only seconds older than me
We playful but serious
Now, keep that on mind for online experience, ugh!
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We’re calling you
Little boy, if the guns are just too tall for you
We’ll find you something small to use
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We need you now
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We’re calling you
Little boy, if the guns are just too tall for you
We’ll find you something small to use
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon
We need you now, blaow!