Cowboys Lyrics - Fugees

Fugees The Score cover art
writers: Rashia Tashan Fisher, Nel Wyclef Jean, Samuel Prakazrel Michel, John E Forte, Dwayne Battle, Jerome P/k/a Pace Won Hinds
release date: 1996-2-12
genres: Hip Hop Funk / Soul
styles: Pop Rap/Bounce/Conscious
length: 5:24
producer: John Forté, Wyclef Jean and Lauryn Hill
guest performer: Young Zee, Pacewon and Rah Digga
guest lead vocals: Rah Digga, John Forté, Pacewon and Young Zee
lead vocals: Pras Michel, Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean
mixer: Wyclef Jean and Warren Riker
engineer: Warren Riker
recording engineer: Warren Riker and Wyclef Jean
co-producer: Pras Michel and Jerry Duplessis
composer: Young Zee, Pacewon, Rah Digga, Pras Michel, Lauryn Hill, John Forté, Wyclef Jean
Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the ***** dies

Zen, zen zen zen zen zen zen
You shot your bullet, but the bullet wwnt
Desperado, do work for new boy
I pull out my gun and plug two like trugoy

Pace 1
Yo this was how the west was won
Our motto, a true desperado
Rappers want to be actors
So they play the Jesse James character
And get they bones fractured
You ain't got no guns, you off to the precinct
Inside tough guys are feminine like sheena easton
Woman cry, woman cry, son still dies
Thrown off the building like the fall guy
Caved in the grave cause you didn't know how to behave
Playin' cowboy now you sleep with the slaves
Who's the desperado, sellin' bottles in the alley
On some villain ****, wearin' a mask like Jim Carrey
With his gat cocked, stinkin' up the crack spot
Pace 1 dies with both eyes on the jackpot
The town that I'm from beggars eat cat chowder
Sundance kid is the everyday purse snatcher
If you see him coming, you better start running
Like a terrorist I guarantee you he'll be humming
Dynamite, dynamite, clef I got the cash
Yo let's skip town like harlem nights

Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the ***** dies

We make moves in stage coaches
Rah digga likes the roaches
If anyone approaches
We be like noches, buenos
And I compose a poem for the many gun-slingers
R&b singers, perpetrating guns with two fingers
My style is perhaps one of the foulest
I inhale large clouds of smoke through my chalice
(Buckin' at stars) and write rhymes for hours
The ghetto missy, drinkin' whiskey sours
Bust this scenario, can't no other *****s in the barrio
(From newark to Ontario), bust us when we in stereo
Cause me and rashida rock the battles
It's apparent, your no talent, cause your blazin' in your saddle
Watch these rap *****es get all up in your pockets
Then bounce with accountants that give me good stock tips
Cause props is up, digga's through the roof
Burnin' *****s like I'm 90 proof
And for all you head beaters
The lead eaters, the cheaters soon to be retreaters
While mamasitas carry real heaters
I rock the dooby and
L rocks the Nubian twists 96
************s gettin' dissed

Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the ***** dies

Yeah, when the out's hooked up with the refugees
It be more *****s than the NAACP
Comin' up on weed of all type
Smokin' home-grown out tobacco pipes
(You've got to know when to hold them
Know when to fold them)
I can take the sunshine, piss in your wine
Steal your concubine, walk away with your goldmine
So oh ah achiga, mamase mamasa mamakusa
**** the sheriff, I shot john Wayne
Push him off the runaway train in the movie shane
Yeah me and that kid, um "what's his name?"
That would be me, young zee from no brain
Smokin' pure from the health fodd store
While my whore slaps cops like zsa zsa gabor
**** with out's it's like those Islam brothers
We march through your hood with a million ************s
So let's get high off the fu-gee-la
When the east is in the house, like I'm blahzay-blah

When pandemonium strikes, at midnight
Full moon splits soft *****s in a lunatic
On some absurd ****
You talk back, hustlin' crack don't make you bigger
*****s who take your measurements quick, don't make it quicker
Stick and slide with vigor
City streets hot like liquor
21 gun saluting, shootin' *****s from the roof and
Got nerve to mouth about it and the weight you claim you movin'
Your whole style is loose and we goin' sew it like it's cotton
You fail to recognize that everybody could get gotten
The bounty on your head, says your dead by manana
Pop babies whisperin' that there's a body dropped, behind the lot
Police blew up the spot and locked the whole block
Medina is the east side of town lounge never till we yawnin'
Gun players regular front page is the bonus
Life will keep existing while I'm shitin' on the corners
Life will keep existing while I'm shitin' on the corners

Everyone wants to be a cowboy
Grab your guns boy
Forty-five by my side, do he live
No the ***** dies

Lyrics licensed by
CD 1
  • 1 Red Intro
  • 2 How Many Mics
  • 3 Ready or Not
  • 4 Zealots
  • 5 The Beast
  • 6 Fu‐Gee‐La
  • 7 Family Business
  • 8 Killing Me Softly
  • 9 The Score
  • 10 The Mask
  • 11 Cowboys
  • 12 No Woman, No Cry
  • 13 Manifest/Outro
  • 14 Fu‐Gee‐La (Refugee Camp remix)
  • 15 Fu‐Gee‐La (Sly & Robbie mix)
  • 16 Mista Mista
  • 17 Fu‐Gee‐La (Refugee Camp Global mix)