song

Now little 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"
Little 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's 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 im like 10, 11
Been fightin' since I was like 6, or 7
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,

Little Weapon, Little Weapon, Little Weapon, We're calling you
There's a war, but 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,

[[Lupe in background]]
Astagfurallah,Astagfurallah,Astagfurallah,Astagfurallah,
Astagfurallah...

Now here comes the march of the boy brigade,
A macabre parade of the toys he made
and 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 little loose
With AK-47's that they shootin' into heaven,
Like they tryin' to kill the Jetsons
The struggle's little recruits
Cute, smile-less, heartless, violent
Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish
Ways, can't write they own names
Or read the words that's on they own graves,
Think you gangsta, popped a few rounds?
The 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,

Little Weapon, Little Weapon, Little Weapon, We're calling you
There's a war, but 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

Imagine if I had to console
The family's of those slain and 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
Starred and blue hearts of card shark wizardry,
On the 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 online for online experience

Little Weapon, Little Weapon, Little Weapon, We're calling you
There's a war, but 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
There's a war, but 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