Получи текст песни Ghostface Killah, Method Man, Prodical, - Wu-Tang Killa Beez: The Stingна свой мобильный!
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[Intro: Ghostface Killah (RZA) {Method Man}] Word (These mothafuckin` niggaz, man) Yeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right? (Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it (I`ma two-way Sunn back right now Next time she show up right on time for this shit) Word, no doubt (Better stop smokin` on that shit) Fuck that, hey, don`t do it with him (Whatever) Yo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka`s sayin` on this, nigga (Yeah, niggaz be buggin` in here Nigga don`t speak no fuckin` English, word?) You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint) {Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}
[Break: Method Man (RZA) {Prodical}] Now let`s see, we don`t get down like that See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own Haha, he holds his own (Bank!) (John Blizzy) {Straight like that} He holdin` twenty on this (Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!} (ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby) Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It`s like that!} (D-Digi!)
[Method Man (Prodical)] Spontaneous combustion got niggaz lustin` Fuckin` with this head bustin` track spanker Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five Tryin` to live to see my forty acher, before I die Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons Shootin` up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!) Ya whole style is undressin` Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section And got spotted, fuckin` with them fake artists who make garbage Now ya like a human target with no direction And no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question Dead and buried, we holdin` like the military Fuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries On virgin mic`s, style very cri-Tical By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters Ya whole sect got you gassed `til I sparked the lighter And burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter I play the shadows, scopin` out you lime lighters and Desperados
[Chorus: Suga Bang Bang (RZA) {Prodical}] Killa Beez is ridin` East to West, baby See our twenties spinnin` on our trucks, baby Diamonds, Cubans hangin` from our neck, baby Come on, come on
[Interlude: RZA {Prodical}] {Baby cuz It`s Not a Game} You see them mothafuckin` twenty-inch chromes spinnin`? {Rocked out, baby, ice hangin`}
[Ghostface Killah (RZA)] Bailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin` Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin` Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat Fiends beepin` me, I erase and delete (Come on) Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos Tryin` out Spanish foods, Roberto`s bangin` bongos Do whatever, crackin` down weather, it means nice Walkin` down the strip, these fat niggaz broke the ice Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate`s wide open A square box fell out, I`m hopin` it be coke and I snatched it, dipped into a parkin` lot and wrapped it See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid Heavens to mega-troid, infants`ll know I`m paranoid What she goes through, I`m on a next flight to St. Croix Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil Him and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal
[Chorus - last two lines only] Diamonds, Cubans hangin` from our neck, baby Come on, come on
[Interlude: RZA {Prodical}] {The finest, baby, the finest} (You see them Linx hangin`?)
[ShaCronz] Yo, yo You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I`m very nice I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice I fuck with many birds, not the canary type I`ve seen a lot of happy days and scary nights My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free Most of these labels can`t handle this heat I love new twat, scrap ho`s on a few blocks When my hate grows I let the tools pop A lot of these rap niggaz be fast to plea
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