Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Warrior Chiefs , by - Buddha Monk. Song from the album The Prophecy, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 05.07.1998
Record label: Edel
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Warrior Chiefs , by - Buddha Monk. Song from the album The Prophecy, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопWarrior Chiefs |
| I’m the warrior chief |
| I’m the merciless God of anyone that disturbs me in my universe |
| Fuck with me and you will suffer my wrath |
| It’s assassination day, so the devil now prays |
| That the bombs from this God don’t sound no alarms |
| Now y’all stay calm, let me move like Rahmadan |
| Speak one word then you’re gone, drop like Hiroshimo bombs |
| Creation of this playing made by 36 Chambers |
| It’s death by wishes and mad niggas is getting headaches |
| I’ma warn you, this shit here is about to get pathetic |
| And there’s fucking boys getting shipped out by FedEx, If I said it |
| Then it’s best that you protect your fucking head, kid |
| I re-design your chromosomes and make that shit my fucking home |
| Get out my war zone! |
| and I’ll leave you hit down all alone |
| I attack, that Killa Bee’s chopping with an axe |
| Fuck, it’s dangerous in this game to bust |
| In holes, while triffels gain your trust |
| Representing Brooklyn from the Hook on |
| No question, we keep the truck on |
| Hoes, now get your fuck on |
| Now you’re suck on some shit, we bust a nut on |
| All you niggas waiting for this bitch, just hold on |
| Desert eagles busting at seagels flying the coup |
| I see you’re face dipped in the plate, eating my soup |
| Now you’re on a negative vibe, then rob me |
| Brooklyn Zu, we float through like foreign currency |
| Sixteen kings, international |
| Going against the odds and the curse |
| A universal traveller verse |
| The first to peep this right or wrong turf |
| Trapped in the Earth’s atmosphere |
| Knowing the wisdom and the knowledge, things is never clear |
| A hundred and eighty degree angle, straight line, bridge |
| Naked asylum, strangle this kid |
| That man move got rocked away far like hemmy’s |
| Vision slightly off, they keeping one with the froth |
| Learning pussy, john protection, court minister, three six zeros |
| Spillin treble, a bow and arrow in hands of a crossed-eye Indian (Indian, Indian) |
| Like Jeff Domer and his barrel of dicks, I shred cliques |
| Crews, camps, clams, shit, the Iron Fist |
| Infiltrator of Shaolin, but Manchurian |
| Learned secrets in divine pamplets |
| Manuals numerous with horrendous skills |
| Intentional calculated kills from the hills |
| When Zu Street had nightmares, Manchuz came on through |
| Assassin’s interior, humble exterior |
| You’re getting warrier, stagering from the javelin |
| Rhymes get ate, like Pharoah Gram’s, see eight |
| Motivate, Manchuz cleaned the plate |
| Went back for seconds, turned MC’s to reverends |
| Ricans, Born Again Christians |
| Believing in mysteries and their histories |
| Nimble and swift like cheaters |
| We be crumbling divisions with murderous intentions |
| It’s the number one rap creator forcing rhymes to make your mind boggle |
| Guzzling MC’s like a bottle of OE, Drunken, pass me another cup |
| Round them up, mad jam, bust some rhymes and make them duck |
| Too late, watch your fucking aisle, I’m Mike Tyson |
| When I’m slicing, rhymes are accurate and precise then |
| Hitting straight to the point, I don’t smoke joints |
| I only drink and puff blunts, so my niggas appointed me |
| Malik, the Drunken Dragon, I’ll burn your ass if you’re lyrics are sagging |
| Cuz your rhymes are shitty, y’all move quick and niggas say did-he |
| Do what I think he just did, that kid is witty |
| I don’t need a welcome commitee, I just appear when I intend to |
| Roast an MC cuz that’s an my agenda, sure contender, wack MC offender |
| Drop your draws, Manchuz’ll get up in you |
| The click got crime with it, rolled back like I cracked a jackel |
| Breaking ankles, gang tackle |
| Most wanted like Tickle Me Elmo last Christmas |
| Today seems the perfect day to test my sword play |
| Planned it, before I did it, then I shitted |
| Lovely like Jada Pinkett naked in Jason’s Lyrics |
| Bank on it, got my monkey wrench and my shank on it |
| Give me a beat like this and I get stank on it |
| Players is getting older, the older’s getting younger |
| The Gods is getting wiser, crackheads getting bolder |
| I wouldn’t tell you nothing to hurt you, unless I don’t like you |
| One way or another Zu gon' get you |
| I keep the toast in the harness |
| About to stick some foreigners |
| Run your garment, cuz I hear my stomach calling |
| It’s a predicament, I’m falling |
| But you don’t see me crawling |
| Cuz I’ma get this loot if it kills me |
| I’ll lock your shit down like a master lock |
| Rolling with a master flock |
| Brooklyn Zu, those the warriors |
| No claiming colors, but strictly claiming hawk of fame |
| I’m leaving niggas we the stain on their brain |
| Street life, we roll dice and rock diamonds |
| Cuz we shining as we bubble on this gold mine |
| And sip fine wines with all my kinds |
| Crazy cuffies, crazy cuffies |
| You niggas bring your ruffy ruffy |
| Rhymes is falling like a bag of illy |
| Niggas dealing with the real, come hear me |
| Duel, I must stalk for the murder behind this shit |
| War lies in the bloody pill like alligators |
| Perpetrators got laced, War written on his face |
| Nigga lost his place and his concentration in his place |
| Clip full for too long leaks it empty |
| Reload, shots at the sky, boo you watch a mole |
| This original Manchu, technical assassin |
| Gun, ax, whipper, we bounce of your block with satisfaction |
| Destroy your anatomy aggressively |
| Killing niggas was meant be be |
| Not logically, but self-explanatory |
| Your man died in a blaze of glory |
| Sword slash cut your bodies (Bodies, what) |
| Name | Year |
|---|---|
| East Side Story | 1998 |
| The Prophecy | 1998 |
| Spark Somebody Up | 2016 |
| Dedicated | 1998 |
| Freestyle | 1998 |
| Life's A Scheme | 1998 |
| Killa From The Villa | 1998 |
| Crazy Cats | 1998 |
| Cut's To The Gut | 1998 |
| No Frills | 1998 |
| Sometime Faces | 1998 |
| Got's Like Come On Thru | 1998 |
| Royal Monk | 1998 |
| Art Of War | 1998 |
| Bang It In Ya Whip | 1998 |