Yo
War wounds, war wounds
These scar tissues haven't healed from these war wounds

I'm tired of tellin' ya'll, I'ma tell ya'll again
(sigh) Yo

[Verse 1: Ramaj Eroc]
They gon' say the money made me, I'ma say the haters did it
For the paper, we did more than break a leg, we disabled n***as
Don't take this personal, but I'm sure ain't a prayer can save you n***as
And God is merciful but to whom is slave to those pagan rituals
I swear my purpose on this earth ain't surface level, shit is deeper
The most rеalest shit I've heard was from twеakers or non-believers, yeah
I put my sweat & tears into n***as, for many years, I believed in'em
And I what I realized in the end, was I never needed'em
Black on black, we don't commit but we stay dressed in it
These raps I kick, you hear the death in them, most definitely
If I spit the first verse I wrote to this, it would be deafening
They ask why I mention God in my raps, it's my specialty
Ahhhhhh, you better call the coroner, there's a murder
'Cause I feel like Ja, my n***a, it's murda murda
If I had to tell you one thing you should always shoulder
The person you've grown to being, may not be what you supposed to, that's real, yeah

[Chorus: Ramaj Eroc]
So every day I have to deal with these war wounds
War wounds, war wounds
These scar tissues haven't healed from these war wounds
Yeah
[Benny The Butcher] Intro
Big BSF, huh!
I made this shit look good, this shit really ugly tho
Uh

[Verse 2: Benny The Butcher]
They gon' say the money changed me, but I'ma say the haters did it
I watched them suckers bend the rules, but what I do? Forgave them n***as
Makin' movies, I played the villain, shake & move and makin' millions
Money callin', my line beepin', I had to tell 'em to wait a minute, uh
Pillippe's stake from table scraps, I don't lie when makin' raps
Enough dough saved up that, I can pay the label back
Overseas tourin', I'm stayin' at the Paris Hilton
Then a few weeks later, a n***a ran into Paris Hilton
I make cocaine aroma smoke, we never got diplomas though
The president that makin' drugs legal, that's who I'm votin' for
You know BSF the stint n***a, these killers uncontrollable
The hip-hop police want my mugshot for these quotables
S-Class, the new one to model (Uh-huh)
Pillows in the back and the rug so soft, can't wear your shoes when we ridin'
I'm used to beef, all you threw is some hollows (That's it), keep playin' (Huh?)
We got hand grenades shake like Don Julio bottles
It's Butch n***a

[Chorus: Ramaj Eroc]
War Wounds, war wounds
These scar tissues haven't healed from these war wounds
War wounds, war wounds
So every day I have to deal with these war wounds
Yeah