 Sting » Lyrics [+ Shtoj +] |
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1. _ Rza Beat
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2. _ G.A.T.
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3. _ When You Come Home
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4. _ Bluntz, Martinez, Girlz and Gunz
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5. _ Doe Rae Wu
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6. _ Out Think Me Now
The storm is
[Chorus: x2]
Females better try to trick me now
Cats better try and Out Think Me Now
Stick me now, maybe even kill me now
Let me dominate for two years strong
You motherfuckers'll never stop the storm
What? Yeah
Uh-huh, what? Yeah
You cowards follow, I'ma lead
Millennium speed, Jeopardy, Greed
Golden seed, militant breed
This is all a real thug need
Science of life dunn, black Oriental
Forever bronze to star, day room war
Apocalypse raw
Limit the sky, let me simplic-ify
Mama said, "God should never cry"
War with The Source, ya girl know me, straight live
Found out swine was in Pop Tarts in '85
You old school cats is talkin' jive
320 E, bumping Tony Starks shit
I don't trust a soul
I don't trust Canal Street gold
I don't trust Timberland's double sole
I don't trust cats on the block who done told
I don't trust Avirex leathers when it be cold
Settin' fire to ya rap books
Frontin' you could get punched in ya mouth
King of New York, this is what a thug about
[Chorus: x2]
Uh, yeah
Apocalypse gifted storm, eyes of Islam
Pain inside Maria eyes
Money low got the Gods in the streets heated
Left the Queens in the world seated
Two kids my baby mom's speeded
Poverty, swears Allah cheated
Keep it strawberry, catchin' cancer
Missin' the World Series
Solomon Childs extraordinaire
Power of the dollar
Body Brighton, Allah body
Thugged out, ready to flip
2000 New York rookie
Hard to hit, who want beef?
Put 'em on the murder cross, imperial laws
Consider me bein top rank
With Pony and Frank
Yo what the deal, Lunar?
No more small cookies
Rather get paid and crush rookies
Me and Mama gettin land with this voice box
Tracks hotter than the Red Sox
Who ever had doubts..
Yo Baby Boy, this is what a thug about
[Chorus: x2]
The storm is
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7. _ Billy
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8. _ Odyssey
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9. _ Rhumba [Remix]
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10. _ Killa Beez
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11. _ Bar Mitzvah
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12. _ Digi-Electronics
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13. _ Thirsty
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14. _ Hatin' Don't Pay
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15. _ Woodchuck
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16. _ Intro
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17. _ KB Ridin'
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18. _ Rollin
feat. RZA
[Doc Doom]
Oh how I love my a hundred spokes
Flossin and shit, California
Flossin on them gold ones
Black Knights
Old ones, I sold them
Sippin on a cold one, Rollin on them gold ones
The chrome was the old ones, I sold them
Can I get a drum roll please for my gold D's?
Hundred spoke Daytonas, wish we all could be California
Smokin bank in the corners in a black six-deuce
Hittin switches, dippin, switchin on that ackrite juice
Act like you, wan' try and take my D's
Watch how fast these slugs in this thang gon' leave
Watch how many holes in ya body it leaves
Watch how much pints of blood you bleed
May the fake thugs retreat, pop up barkin the heat
Caravanin nine-to-ten cars deep
Down the 'shaw where Knights is known to breakin laws
And if a bitch is ridin with me she's takin it off
Now get off ya job, if not bitch I'm layin you off
'cause I guess the last nigga that you fucked with was soft
That ain't me, it cost just to floss with me
And how I love my a hundred spoke D's
[Chorus 3.5X: Doc Doom]
Rollin, sippin on a cold one, Rollin on them gold ones
The chrome was the old ones, I sold them
[RZA]
Yo
Up in a black bourbon tank labelled GMC
Smokin on a Newport long and PCP
Gat tucked in, easy pass, I'm low duckin
Dimepiece bird on the side I'm finger-fuckin
Bouncin off this deuce-deuces, fat like Polo gooses
Eighteen-inch woofers movin studio acoustics
Rim tri-star, chrome on my side-bar
Don't hate crab 'cause I caught ya bitch eye par
Platinum grill, re-enforced solid steel
Superstar engine, force of an eighteen wheel
That'll crash through brick walls, smash intersections
Move through ya city escorted with police protection
Heated polished seats with back massages
You gotta know how to roll in more like Kenny Rogers
Tinted glass, PS2 plus Dreamcast
Smoke screens, blindin high blasts
GPS satellite navigation
Automatic lock doors drop jackers to the station
You got beef you get fed to Doc Doom
Goon, you can't fuck with Wu Killa Bee Clan platoon
I might get Holocaust to come and cough on you
My nigga Crisis might love to let one off on you
Or Rugged Monk rolls up another blunt
The great Digi goes and lures out another cunt
'cause I be Rollin, Rollin, Rollin on them twenty-twos
Ain't got no money or love for you funny fools
'cause I be Rollin, Rollin, Rollin on them twenty-twos
Sippin brews, packin tools for you funny fools
[Monk]
I'm from the land of chaos where niggaz get shot for trippin
I caught a fool slippin on some D's, now I'm steady dippin
Cruisin, movin up the block 'cause I'm the shit
Stick dick to hoodrats, make gangsta hits
I baptize my sticks, ice skate on seventeens
On the phone with five-oh, don't you love them D's?
While they spin, you freeze in ya souped up paint clean
Fifties, amps, six by nines and thangs
Comin down the block, let my sub straight bang
Like, "Fuck the po-po's, I'm not turnin it down"
I love to floss as I toss up a fifth of that Crown
Bank corner after corners, watch all the ho's smile
[Chorus 3.5X]
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Në Album [+ Shtoj +] |
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