Little Weapon - Lupe Fiasco, Bishop G, Nikki Jean

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!