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Tytuł: The monument

  • Wykonawca: Wu-Tang Clan
  • Wy¶wietleń: 262
[Busta Rhymes]
   Yeah, yeah yeah now, what the fuck now?
   Flipmode Wu-Tang shit, what the fuck now?
   Yeah yeah yeah..
   Historical and monumental shit
   What the fuck now? Yeah, yeah, yeah
  
   Straight smack a nigga right in the face like this was handball
   Or make a mural out his face up on a damn wall
   Niggaz play hard and shit; if you know what's best for you
   y'all niggaz better safeguard your shit
   Even though we rep brass knuckle rap
   Fuck with street geniuses and bowlegged chicks who walk with a gap
   Street niggaz now the corporate boss
   Still go to y'all resteraunt for steamed fish and Irish moss
   And y-yo, the way we do it and you see how my shit bomb
   Your whole show wack and I'ma cancel your sitcom
   Fuck a nigga broad 'til she tired and real calm
   You ain't knowin my name tattoed on your bitch arm
   The way we blow SHIT is a shame
   Casually bust my gun and celebrate bustin a cork on the champagne
   Wrote you with a whole new approach that lead a whole team of niggaz
   Y'all should know I only ball like a coach, NOW!
  
   [Raekwon the Chef]
   Check out the light fixture, freak lines like white bitches
   Let the mic lines - hang that slang is ridiculous
   Emperor of warlords, big gun only fuck with sawed-offs
   That's my specialty, more to bust
   Shot out my bed parrot keep it gangster Lord
   I analyze your work those that got merked were not established
   Texture look classy, arm baby 2000 raspberry
   S-5, blowin through Asbury
   Soon to own steakhouses, glowin like makeover thousand
   Them them niggaz, robbin from Pinkhouse's
   Show and prove, knockin off cab drivers
   God, sodomize money, ring two hundred thousand
   See the color of the carved out Wu emblem
   Baby, it's all designers, tailor-made Wu gooses
   Limousine, automatic new uzi's in 'em yo
   Relax, cousin just cruise through, jewels with him
  
   [GZA]
   Move up the block, giant box blast my song
   Non-stop strictly hip-hop, march on
   Doo-rag hang long, metal tape is high-bias
   Graphics, captured with the colorful, iris
   I zoom in, while the listeners tune in
   Some assumin they paid dues and joined the union
   Lost nigga couldn't rumble in this wild jungle
   Quick to crumble, type to be on the stand and fumble
   Divine Master, threw on the track that made 'em bleed
   He produce at unattainable rains of top speed
   This powerful magnet, that left 'em stagnant
   was unlikely in cameras in larger fragments
   Un-filled rifle, scout sniper, shots precise
   Starlight scope, with the night vision device
   Splendid marksman, that'll shoot the one off the dice
   Split a grain of rice, in one shot we kill 'em twice
   [*GUNBLAST*]