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(feat. Killah Priest & Masta Killa) |
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[Intro: Killah Priest (Masta Killa)] |
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Let it flow, deh-deh-duh (yeah) it's on (beh-deh-deh-deh) |
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(Den-e-neh) on... (yo, aiyo) |
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[Chorus: reggae sample] |
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Keep on knowin' what you know |
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Keep on knowin' what you know |
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End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains |
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[Masta Killa] |
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Back in '88, son was gettin' a little paper |
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Caught a few stings, rocked the phat rope cables |
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Pushed the white Mercury Sable, known for holdin' heat |
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Pharoah garmer marks on his feet, serpents whisper |
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You can smell the deceit, they greet me like peeps, to blend |
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And try to befriend, to get up, underneath the skin |
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My long wind'll blow ya head piece degrees |
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Murder One Team, Barcelini Noodle had lean |
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Microphone fiend, step into the rhythm |
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This is how I'm servin' them, no need for medic attention |
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I just murder them, murder them... pussy, I just murder them |
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[Chorus] |
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[R.A. the Rugged Man] |
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I'm a dip-dip diverse, socializer |
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I'm a hoof flat top rule, in eighty niner |
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They say Rugged, by now, you should of at least blown |
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It's funny, I'm mad famous for being unknown |
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I'm just a dirty motherfucker, they hate my guts |
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All I talk about is bitches, and bustin' nuts |
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Yeah, I got a foul mouth, yeah, I cuss too much |
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I'm just so Ricky Ricardo, ri-di-cu-lous |
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And I ain't got no fly whip, I still ride the bus |
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I got Mitch Blood Green on the scene with us |
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Hospitable, hitable, cooler, than Jacob who criminal |
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Miracle, lyrical, take every syllable literal |
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Little riddle, profitable, visible, iritibal |
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Little brittle, pitiful, for so through little, you tickle, you typical |
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Yeah, I talk shit, I'm cocky with it |
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It's hard for you to admit it, but I'm one of the best in it |
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[Chorus] |
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[Killah Priest] |
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My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves that's torment |
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Slow down my steps, one foot from the grave to con it |
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Our young black males, they lick pon gate |
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Son of the morning, roasted souls, tell Minister "come pray" |
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It's gun trade inside of smokey apartments |
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Flow process, one nine, two tech, four revolvers |
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Coke overballing kettels, it's like we struck oil in the ghetto's |
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We supply it to addict's, the devil work |
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He practice, he's like a search backwards |
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Til they throw that dirt in our casket, and that's it |
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I live where the fiends are nothin', just a scene of the projects, similar to |
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Osama's |
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An old man, at the top of the stairs, he just stare |
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Cuz his mind ain't there, victim of the war |
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Polar signs, the times is near |
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He drop the jewels, til you buy him a beer |
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He said he was a linebacker for the Bears |
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Said he did it all back, while he's dryin' his tear |
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Yeah, it's that real shit, that made me |
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That music from the '80's, the child's of the '70's |
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I live long til they bury me... |
