| Uh-huh, whoo, whoo
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| I’m feeling this fucking beat…
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| Bronze, you a fool for this one, baby
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| Good looking out for this one, uh-huh
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| Yo, yo, yo, uh-huh
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| Aiyo, fuck some 22's, I’d rather buy a four-four
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| While you jumps looking pretty, I’m preparing for war
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| I’m like that nigga on the bench, man, ready to score
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| You can tell that I’m anxious, frustration in my face
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| Ain’t nobody put me here, had to earn my place
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| Talk a couple loses, dog, but I’m still in the race
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| So fuck fronting for a bitch, man, I’m try’nna get rich
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| Paid in full like Ace Boogie, making money like Mitch
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| While you clowns stop in whips, man I’m playing with ships
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| Smoking purple, staying focused, while I sip on a fifth
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| My man Bronze put me on, so you know I’mma do it
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| Keep this ill shit moving, keep it flowing like fluid
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| Went from guns to the mic, so I rep for the streets
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| For my niggas in them cellblocks, according to beef
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| Through all the pains and the struggle, how the fuck could I sleep
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| Plus I’m hungry, muthafucka, can’t rest til I eat
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| Yeah, ya’ll niggas know me, man (Black Day in July)
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| Know what the fuck I represent (Wu-Tang, nigga)
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| Word up.
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| We in the sweatshop, we work hard on our jobs
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| Dark mobs, the whole block of parched monks taking shots
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| Resilient psychic villains, days blacker than Exxon spillage
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| Tuck the Pillage, paper sack it, fuck the millage
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| My spirits from the kingdom of Kush, get drunk with Jenna Bush
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| She like «Yo, Bronze, I love how you cook»
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| When fans spit the sun out, it turned to onyx daze
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| My moon’s bright, spend white nights in an angel’s gaze
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| Dorothy Dandridge manuscript, pretty as your daughter’s kiss
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| Black clouds, high noon, rain on the nemesis
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| Words made of Qu’ran pages, you never stood by
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| And saw thoughts so clear, as a man’s breath in winter time
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| You saluteable Jesus feet, glow like the furnace
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| Voice like Rushin' waters of Vodka from a thermos
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| Half baked brain case, love how your dame taste
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| You sour as welfare milk weeks beyond the keep dates
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| Blunts is snake skin coils, I gotta alotta top soil
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| Throw it on coffins, with nails from Mosque Halls
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| Swim-fan bitches, pools of pre-cum in my britches
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| Wipe it on her fat ass, fuck tissues
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| Prominent son of Mary, Ossuary Pen, stole the rhythm
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| Ran through these bars like I escaped prison
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| I’ve risen like locust in the mausoleum Seal
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| Terrorize lines like Wu signs in Mel Gibson fields |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song To The Table , by - Bronze Nazareth. Song from the album Bronzestrumentals Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп