Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Warrior Chiefs, 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
Warrior 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) |