Lyrics Zen - Clipse

Zen

Is it them blings that make em watch us?
The awkward lean and them cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m so obnoxious, getting money say
Hands got the bubble touch, bike with the double clutch
Two diamond jump ropes, my neck do the double dutch
Give a fuck about such and such
On behalf of the Re-Up Gang, I’m saying enough’s enough
Turn it, turn it, fire, burn it
Gram weight straight like a nigga just permed it
Pyrex and water, playa, how I earns it
Lame rap niggas I’m so not concerned with
On another level, my third bezel, my fourth gas pedal
55 on the back, I’m a daredevil
The course is paved, the watch is pavé
You niggas gotta love me, I’m something the lord made
I got-gots to do it, do it
VVS, my jewelry don’t need no jury
To find me guilty, I stay gaudy
Pockets bulky, how can y’all fault me?
Ghost-ride it driver, what that mean?
You’re small, welly, nigga fuck that beam, Us that team
Touch that cream, digital scale, what’s that scheme?
(It's all real) Don’t touch that thing (Fake!)
Niggas faces get flattened and clapped-in
Squad want action, Re-run, What’s Happening?
Every episode, the Tec exposed, Gotti body
Tsunami mamis, it’s gotta be why they watching
Is it them blings that make em watch us?
The awkward lean and them cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m so obnoxious, getting money say
Zen zen zen zen zen zen, zen zen zen
Zen zen zen zen zen zen (Getting money say)
Zen z-zen, zen zen, zen zen
Zen zen, zen zen zen z-z-zen
Now how that forearm glow on 'em, feeling so grown on 'em
I pitch work sorta like Nomo on 'em
Snow on 'em, cover my tracks, low on 'em
So on 'em, streets I, push blow on 'em
The car drop with the soft top like whoas on 'em
Rolls on 'em, go on 'em, I’m striking a pose on 'em
No opponent can come close, match tone on it
Flow on it, honed on it, I’m feeling that home owned it
It’s Liva, the rider, the man, they hang clothes on 'em
With the belt, the matching shoes, the G soles on 'em
I’m classic, the plastic got Os on 'em
I rolls on 'em, the self-murder doors close on 'em
Yeah, good gosh a-mighty
All we do is cook raw, push cars like Whitey
Like a moth to a flame it’s so inviting
To opposite sexes, the stones, so precious
Still in the Resi G4 Valieire
No diamond in that bezzi, I get grown-er every year
Pay me for that feature, that don’t make it family
All is see is blackface and you singing «Mammy»
I’m from the old school when the Gat was a jammy
Twin four-fifths, the resemblance is uncanny
I bust both in sync, y’all niggas hear me
Now that’s what I call the Big Bang Theory
Is it them blings that make em watch us?
The awkward lean and them cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m so obnoxious, getting money say
Zen zen zen zen zen zen, zen zen zen
Zen zen zen zen zen zen (Getting money say)
Zen z-zen, zen zen, zen zen
Zen zen, zen zen zen z-z-zen