 |
|
- | 
|
||
| from Royal Fam - Yesterday Today Iz Tomorrow (2000) | |||||
 |
|
1:21 | 
|
||
|
from Ghost Dog (고스트 독) by RZA [ost] (2000)
(feat. La the Darkman)
[Intro: Timbo King] Y'all niggas shittin on my sidewalk Curb ya dog You could pay a penalty for that [Timbo King] Yo, sharp swords and rusty knives against dusty nines You stink niggas with musky vibes Battle cry, warrior stance, the black Pearl Harbor Smell of revenge, worms in the air Spit like grandpa from down South Three-sixty roundhouse, I'm throwin planets and stars All I need is two pieces of fish and five loaves of bread Watch me feed five thousand, power the Hill Out of the ville, zip code unlisted Murder last night, the homocide, missed it Blood For Blood, gang turf The way of the samurai sword, we bang first Each your food, test your flesh, lock doors Top dogs with paws obey God's laws Claim your set, light reflects off water My Fam outta state sellin quarters Convicts with court orders Shoot the gift out the barrel Multiple gunshot wounds or poison arrows Moon saw beats pharoah, bloody apparell The streets look safe, but they narrow Modern day Jes' James, rock trains, close range Watches and chains, ear rings, everything Corporate thugs move on business campaigns Blaze, ignite the flame, I carry the torch Walk through The Valley of Death and get scorched [Chorus: Mighty Jarrett] Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! Two shot lick out, a man get shot Straight from the cannon, ass wouldn't know less Just because of that, the whole block get hot Police helicopter, a snipe 'pon de roof top Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! Two minute later, Babylon catch spark In the staircase with a rasclat glock Never know, said them wouldn't come round back Know him look like, said him youths can't talk Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa BLUH! [police sirens] [machine gun fire] [La the Darkman] Darkman, came do my thing, the Bee sting Assassinate your whole team with the forty red beam My sword gleam, sharpen my script as an arrow Professional, La, my style, double barrell I self-Lord, master, natural disaster Holy slang to splash ya, dark force to thrash ya Blind eyes, puligiments, got four wives Inside my square, rappers get buried alive We never even, put you in the dirt still breathin Perfection, gold mic touch, dunn, I'm blessin Flames lick the flesh, shot at some of the best When delf play me at my rest, stab the kid in his chest Now I got respect, runnin through boroughs, hoods and towns Niggas pull they pants down when I show the four pound Verbally fantastic, cock my rhyme, blast it Trapa Ghandi, classic, gun talk, gymnastics Rude boy, shoot, seek and destroy My gold tech blast rappers from here to Quebec Yo, La's born, Brooklyn raised You niggas get more than grazed when I blaze my guage It's not an arcade, dunn, my gun is real as AIDS I'm Holyfield, rappers is Tyson these days Darkman, Wu-Tang Clan, La the Darkman Wu-Tang Clan, the Killah [Chorus] [police sirens] [machine gun fire] |
|||||
|
