Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Cut's To The Gut, artist - Buddha Monk. Album song The Prophecy, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.07.1998
Record label: Edel
Song language: English
Cut's To The Gut |
Yea, aight, yo |
We just gon' shut all these mothafuckas up |
(For all y’all gangsta mothafuckas) |
Yea, that shit |
It wasn’t my fault you came outside without ya strap on |
Tryin to get yo mack on and niggas took oath of possession |
Should’ve rolled deep, get crooked by niggas I creap |
And catch ya when ya least expect, the hard head |
For those livin trife, it cuts like a knife |
Who choose to play dice, who choose to play dice |
It’s that, this one is a money maker |
My album took that taker, I see ya nigga money and he stashin |
I caught that nigga and I had to quick react |
And blast quick, nigga tried to front, he gonna laugh at |
This type of style is hardcore, nigga tried to front |
When he WHAT? |
WHAT? |
Move on him, WHAT? |
But I’ma hit him with my utmost shit |
If ya can’t bring death, then ya can’t represent |
Deadly is the slang from the Brooklyn Zu |
When we comin thru ya town, what ya niggas gonna do? |
Never carried steal, before ya got that deal |
But now ya wouldn’t have got it, so now ya puffin chronic |
Two heads of drakness comin forth, there is many |
Blind once or twice, then those heads become pennys |
My swing is more deadly than a shot from yo gun |
You see I swung once, but really I swung fourth |
Just be by yo vision, now yo shit’s on the floor |
Shit like that, ya can’t face with plasta |
Sent niggas back cuz I am the Dutch Masta |
Kill or pylon wack-ass styles in the mud |
Minds deep in heart, this is gold wit yo gut |
It’s understood, oh he be someone you can’t see |
And that someone is me, too deep for you to believe |
]From the day of yo birth till ya ride in the hurse |
There’s nothin that happens that could’ve been worse |
Let me free, atom bomb will be the final sequel |
Which all men are cremated equal |
Never war, come back on four tracks |
Niggas wanna test the Bees, ya must be wack |
Never more, actual fact |
Comin thru with the Killa Bees attack |
My sword has the power to devour in any hour |
Slang cuts ya brains, now ya veins only hang |
Matter of sense, so I inflict the Killa hits |
Dirty will assist with this mix, breaks mad shit |
There’s is no crew that can test the 1−12 crew |
Don’t let me go SUU!, Killa Bees comin thru |
Break the war with the great and it kills with the slicin |
I come with mad sins, I’m the happy man again |
Come into my realm and I kill like the lizard palm |
Can’t prevail with the tails, now ya mind dwells |
Into a dimension, no facts, only fiction |
Who’s sent to this train has three sixes on their skin |
BLOAW! |
Little hare was good, was dippy |
The wild-ass hippy who always packed the heater |
Lived the good life, was praised around, the hood life |
He ran with his man from the second floor |
Livin happy, puffin on the staircase wall |
Greedy had a younger brotha, they both lived with motha |
Motha had no fatha, they both held each otha |
And prayed for the otha, Greedy saw the seat |
Never knew the feat, at nite he would creap |
Was still packin heat, the planned to catch a digga |
Greedy caught the hiccups, one, two more, three |
But Nosey got away, the eighty-fiver man |
Yea, he still strayed away, the clean Eddie faked it |
No icepick or fist, Glock or tech-nine |
He contemplated this, caught in the shootout |
His man wanted his boot out, he was caught in a trance |
He has his mask, laid out past dawn, now momma’s grave missed |
Comin at 'cha from every type of angle |
Ya know Killa Bees represent the Bronx |
Queens, Manhatten, all over this world |
The east coast, straight and down |
Straight out of Clark’s |
And all over everywhere |
Medina Warriors |
(I love to hear the Bees!) |