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(feat. Shorty Shit Stain & Dutch Master) |
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(Intro: Buddha Monk, (Shorty Shit Stain)) |
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Yea, aight, yo |
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We just gon' shut all these motha****as up |
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(For all y'all gangsta motha****as) |
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Yea, that shit |
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(Shorty Shit Stain of Brooklyn Zu) |
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It wasn't my fault you came outside without ya strap on |
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Tryin to get yo mack on and niggaz took oath of possession |
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Should've rolled deep, get crooked by niggaz I creap |
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and catch ya when ya least expect, the hard head |
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For those livin trife, it cuts like a knife |
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Who choose to play dice, who choose to play dice |
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It's that, this one is a money maker |
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My album took that taker, I see ya nigga money and he stashin |
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I caught that nigga and I had to quick react |
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and blast quick, nigga tried to front, he gonna laugh at |
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This type of style is hardcore, nigga tried to front |
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When he WHAT? WHAT? Move on him, WHAT? |
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But I'ma hit him with my utmost shit |
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If ya can't bring death, then ya can't represent |
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(Chorus: Buddha Monk) |
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Deadly is the slang from the Brooklyn Zu |
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When we comin thru ya town, what ya niggaz gonna do? |
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(Dutch Masta Killa) |
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Never carried steal, before ya got that deal |
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But now ya wouldn't have got it, so now ya puffin chronic |
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Two heads of drakness comin forth, there is many |
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Blind once or twice, then those heads become pennys |
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My swing is more deadly than a shot from yo gun |
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You see I swung once, but really I swung fourth |
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Just be by yo vision, now yo shit's on the floor |
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Shit like that, ya can't face with plasta |
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Sent niggaz back cuz I am the Dutch Masta |
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Kill or pylon wack-ass styles in the mud |
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Minds deep in heart, this is gold wit yo gut |
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It's understood, oh he be someone you can't see |
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and that someone is me, too deep for you to believe |
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>From the day of yo birth till ya ride in the hurse |
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There's nothin that happens that could've been worse |
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Let me free, atom bomb will be the final sequel |
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Which all men are cremated equal |
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(Buddha Monk) |
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Never war, come back on four tracks |
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Niggaz wanna test the Bees, ya must be wack |
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Never more, actual fact |
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Comin thru with the Killa Bees attack |
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My sword has the power to devour in any hour |
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Slang cuts ya brains, now ya veins only hang |
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Matter of sense, so I inflict the Killa hits |
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Dirty will assist with this mix, breaks mad shit |
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There's is no crew that can test the 1-12 crew |
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Don't let me go SUU!, Killa Bees comin thru |
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Break the war with the great and it kills with the slicin |
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I come with mad sins, I'm the happy man again |
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Come into my realm and I kill like the lizard palm |
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Can't prevail with the tails, now ya mind dwells |
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into a dimension, no facts, only fiction |
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Who's sent to this train has three sixes on their skin |
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(Dutch Masta Killa) |
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BLOAW! Little hare was good, was dippy |
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The wild-ass hippy who always packed the heater |
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Lived the good life, was praised around, the hood life |
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He ran with his man from the second floor |
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Livin happy, puffin on the staircase wall |
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Greedy had a younger brotha, they both lived with motha |
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Motha had no fatha, they both held each otha |
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and prayed for the otha, Greedy saw the seat |
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Never knew the feat, at nite he would creap |
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was still packin heat, the planned to catch a digga |
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Greedy caught the hiccups, one, two more, three |
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But Nosey got away, the eighty-fiver man |
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Yea, he still strayed away, the clean Eddie faked it |
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No icepick or fist, glock or tech-nine |
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He contemplated this, caught in the shootout |
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His man wanted his boot out, he was caught in a trance |
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He has his mask, laid out past dawn, now momma's grave missed |
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(Outro: Dutch Masta Killa, (ODB)) |
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Comin at 'cha from every type of angle |
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Ya know Killa Bees represent the Bronx |
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Queens, Manhatten, all over this world |
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The east coast, straight and down |
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Straight out of Clark's |
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And all over everywhere |
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Medina Warriors |
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(I love to hear the Bees!) |
