Little Weapons - Lupe Fiasco

Piece of installation art in the Maboneng Precinct in Johannesburg based on the Luke Fiasco song "Little Weapons" - Julie Lovelace. Unfortunately I couldn't shoot the whole piece a there was a car in the way.Great stuff!

 

Little Terry got a gun, he got from the store,

He bought it with the money he got from his chores,

He robbed candy shop told her lay down on the floor,

Put the cookies in his bag took the pennies out the

drawer.

 

Little Kalil 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 hair,

He's gonna 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 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 fear 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

There's a war

If the guns are just too tall for you

We'll find you something small to use

 

Now here comes the march of the boy brigade

A macabre Parade of the toys he made

In and shades who looks 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

And AK-47's that they shooting into heaven

Like they're trying to kill the Jetson's

They struggle 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 gangster popped a few rounds,

These kids will 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

 

Imagine if I had to console,

The families 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 leaves resume activity,

Start and blew hearts apart sharp wizardry,

On next part I insert code

To sweeten up the little purses murder work load

I tell him he work for CIA with A

A operative, I operate this game all day

I hold a 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 on line experience

Lupe Fiasco

 

Done