Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 5th Chamber, artist - Bronze Nazareth. Album song Bronzestrumentals Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 03.08.2009
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
5th Chamber |
Yeah, another one, the mad butcher |
12 O’Clock, Prodigal Sunn, Bronze Nazareth |
Two On Da Road, yeah, Think Differently |
My nigga Dreddy Kruger, yeah |
Sunny shazaam, spark any part of ya jam |
I am that I am, cannons like 'Samite Sam |
That’ll break ya ass up, like the hits on my ram |
Legit on the cam, plus I do it, for the love of my fam |
No wool over my eyes, been in the game, see through the lies |
Ready and live, for them spies, try’nna see my demise |
Zini on the rise, moving the sky, stay on the top |
Late for the drop, keep clear, from them hip hop cops |
Ain’t no stopping what I’m willing, drilling |
Do it for the love of the children, double some millions |
The industry, a couple of billions |
For killing the struggle, the war, the hustle |
Remain like a muscle, solid Bronze, cooler than Fonze |
Spit it like balms, seven dot coms, the man supreme |
Queen with the charm, the king who keeps his loot all calm |
Known to bare arms, moving some harm, off that burning bush |
Twisting that diesel kush, lethal like some George Bush |
Hip hop to me, is like food in the stomach |
I bust in a nut that feel it, when you pumping |
I rock a buggy eyed Benz, four hundred and something |
My hands in my pocket, dead preses' by the bunches |
My daughter birthday is on the candle in the pumpkin |
I’m on the highway, Flex Master when he Funkin' it |
Mmm. |
I burn that kush, look out for them cops, they crooks |
Do more crimes than son in Brook |
I’m on the corner, arm break when it put |
We looking harder than coke when it’s cooked |
Got niggas scared to look |
Know the fo’fo leave a hole, as wide as a book |
I’m from Bedstuy, do or die, heart of the Brook |
Lies get took, stick up kids live off the juks |
Must the gun in ya face, nigga, call you a puss' |
Out of town niggas shaking, when they come through, they shook |
Watch a king, nigga, my queen got your check' with the rook |
Guard ya fifty two block, nigga, the jab and the hook |
Where the barrels roar, pharaohs war where I aerosol |
Ran deep in the streets like a marathon |
Vagabond, with Haggler arms, strangle with a herring bone |
Piano grand style, hand the man a fan and bow |
To the upmost, respect me to the muthafuckin' glucose |
Erode most to the last atom, home, batter domes |
They use my chatter for better holes |
Buyin' this, ridin' it, cherry picture, rusty blades |
That’s my sound, it run the crowd jewels by the pound |
Stake niggas up, but if I must, I get down |
Keep northern lights lit, from bush trim close |
Glove box stashed equipped with the UFO’s for the foes |
Shatter bones like Mexican bulls |
Play me close, you find yourself on from any hope |
Got plenty rope, third eye, sigh for any scope |
As far as I know, nigga, my artist control |
By the hand written part of my soul |
While the life line pardon the notes |
The modern magna carta, art show from the barrel of the gun choke |
Sean Price is the nicest MC in the world to ever write a rap |
This the way I get paid, unless you box and crack |
I write a rap in a minute, niggas dig it for years |
Cuz they love it when I spit the bullshit in they ear |
Yellow bus niggas can’t read or write too good |
But they sell whites white, and they nice with good |
Listen, I spit a gem star, on you and your friend, pa |
Then spar ten rattles in your friend car |
Sean the Boss, I’m the best in the world |
You’se a bitch, and you soft like the breasts on your girl |
Bump bitches suck dick for the wash and say |
With they finger 'round the collar, holla 'wash ya neck' |
Listen, Dikembo Mutumbo, feliz navidad |
You buy Ecko, they give us free, like Amistad |
Listen, make some noise if you wanna receive this |
Shot the gun, voice one, stolen your Jesus, P |