Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Rushing Elephants, artist - Wu-Tang Clan. Date of issue: 10.12.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Rushing Elephants |
| Yo, yo, yo, what up kid? |
| Yo, these niggas is back, son |
| (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) I’m telling you, spit that, done it nigga |
| Yeah… yeah… yeah, yeah, I seen it like a Zenith, man |
| You hear me man? |
| Word up, man, ya’ll know what it is |
| It’s on again, man, for real, Top Gun, what what |
| Aiyo, we came through thumping like elephants |
| The new Range is super-charged, I remains intelligent |
| Back to the formula, lord, hard grammar |
| This is God school, make sure the lobby ain’t jammed up |
| Excalibur swords, T-Rexes, bibles of rhymes |
| We in the lunchroom, we eat veggies for breakfast |
| Polo campus, sicker lances, the crisp |
| Hundred dollar kick niggas, that be showing you dance steps |
| Back to the dormatory, where niggas |
| Broke my forearm and index finger, now you write glory |
| True holding my flag, it’s all engraved in my blade |
| So when I wave it, you gon' say Rae mad |
| Now it’s 28 Days Later, now Wu’s up, do something, you can’t |
| It’s blood in my eye, I might get amped |
| To rip something down, the billboard holders is back |
| So when you see me, you gon' say he gets down |
| From darkness to DNA, I move with my brother |
| And we resonate, energy that shifts in colors |
| Bringing MC’s punishment, then I’m done with it |
| The meter leave way on the fast break, I run with it |
| It was not a hobby, but a childhood passion |
| That had started in the lobby and was quicky fashioned |
| Every line to line, bar for bar is clockwork |
| Hazardous and powerful enough to have your block hurt |
| Check the total amount of MC’s inflicted |
| With torture, from moving with work that’s restricted |
| We criticize producers til they joints are right |
| Then acupuncture the track with pinpoints of light |
| Hitting them from well conceiled firing positions |
| With explosiveness that’ll make the deaf listen |
| Drastic, pyroclastic, connected with the same old |
| Down the dangerous slopes of an active volcano |
| Blitz like the Green Bay Packers, sack like the linebackers |
| Hang with niggas, like redneck crackers |
| Strangle cold bottles of Beck’s, like a vexed German |
| Duck low behind the car, my tech burning |
| Neck burning, from eight karats of sunlight |
| Absorbed, in the grill, Big Pun like |
| Lord of the Wu-Tang sword, know what that means? |
| Like J.R. Tolkien, it’s the Lord of the Rings |
| This is my man, Chef, auto, like Grand Theft Auto |
| The 18th letter, followed by the mark of Zorro |
| Plus A, not for apple, but I pack an apple |
| Shorty try to buck back, and knock me off the saddle |
| Caramel, pecan, sundae, praline |
| Plump breasts, was filled with saline |
| Her big booty cousin, nasty Nadine |
| Get you on the floor, whore tried to double team |
| Is he still that nucca? |
| Is he in the hood like that? |
| Is he really strapped? |
| Will he really split yo' shit? |
| I thought you said he rap? |
| Pull up in the yard, ten sets |
| He ain’t flexing, microphone ripping, heat holding |
| Who testing? |
| Rope-a-dope his black lotus |
| Can’t quote this, chat with the sword tongue |
| Duck when the axe is swinging, wild Apache drum |
| Crazy Horse kicking his thoughts, he won’t quit |
| Can’t tell 'em nothing, he grown, give the man room |
| Space was demanded, beat banging through the speaker |
| Voice, heat seek missle, guided at the listener |
| Swing to the gospel, catch up and wet at the brothel |
| Unstoppable, direction of my flow, optional |
| To the ear, depending on the current of air, the crowd’s in |