[Intro:]
Now little Terry got a gun he got from the store,
He bought it with the money he got from his chores,
He robbed a 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 the 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 in the school is his black book bag,
His black nail polish, black boots, and black hair,
He gon blow away the bully that just pushed his ass.
[Verse 1: Lupe Fiasco]
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, it's me!
[Chorus: Nikki Jean]
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon,
We're calling you, there's a war,
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, now.
[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]
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 one off of dead soldiers hang a lil' loose
Where AK-47's that they shooting into heaven,
Like they tryna kill a Jetson that 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 their 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 graves get deeper the further we go down,
It's little weapon.
[Chorus: Nikki Jean]
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon,
We're calling you, there's a war,
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, now.
[Verse 3: Bishop G]
Imagine if I had to console
The families of those slain I slayed on game consoles,
I aim my hole, 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,
Start in blue heart, subpar 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, uh!
[Chorus: Nikki Jean]
Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon,
We're calling you, there's a war,
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, now.