Tytuł: The whist

• Wykonawca: RZA
• Wyświetleń: 322

  
   [Intro: RZA]
  *whistling*
  *beat kicks in*
  Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Digital
  
  [RZA]
  Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal
  You nizzles try to belittle, but ya'll lest in spittle
  From a baby's lip, the digi made me flip
  Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip
  And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002
  We be housin' crews, plus we housin' fools
  In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools
  Crazy shootin' dudes buck off the beat
  Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf
  Two guns in their hands yellin' "Fuck the police!"
  On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece
  Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo
  On her breast that's shaped like The W
  Go 'head snatch the guns, son, I'll cover you
  And if they get past me we got another two, yeah...
  
  [Chorus: RZA & Prodigal Sunn]
  We smoke those blunts the size of bats
  We got those gats as long as ax
  We snatch that cheese right off the trap
  We put those Beez all on your map
  
  [Prodigal Sunn]
  I shoot the fair one, I dare ya'll run through New York City
  Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself
  Ace my health, great with wealth
  Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self
  Or any man, woman or child that I call fam
  That's the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam
  Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues
  Nine o'clock news, abused the mind of many fools
  Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues
  From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent
  Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings
  We never die, built my name, sustained like blood
  Flow through the veins divine sign
  Dine with wine forever sunshine
  
  [Chorus]
  
  [RZA]
  We smoke...
  
  [Masta Killa]
  From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band
  Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor
  Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba
  Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca
  Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date
  Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate
  How can you beat a G a week in '88?
  Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod
  Mama shouldn't work so hard to pay the landlord
  A grand in your birthday card, times is hard
  The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz
  We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head
  Yo, the east so hot, it's red, but that's home
  And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone
  Sonny Corleone don't discuss it on the phone
  
  [Chorus to end]