| Bob Digi, U G.O.D, Raekwon the Chef, the Inspektah Deck
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| M.E.T.H.O.D. |
| (Man), the B.O.B.B., straight up, Masta Killa, the Gza, the Genius.
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| It’s the Ol’D-d-dza-za-za Diiiirty Bastard!
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| Straight Up. |
| turn it up, the headphones, turn it up. |
| yo you here me?
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| Wutup Toney?
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| Wsup don’don'.
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| All the way up.
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| You know how we do.
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| Let’s get this paper together.
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| You motherfuckin’right Pa, uh huh.
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| That’s right, c’mon nigga.
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| That’s as far as it goes?
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| Sound about to go off on some real live Wu-shit, uh huh
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| W-T-C
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| Ghost-FACE!
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| Lemme give y’all the bullshit hook for y’all niggas, check it out…
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| The burners in the stash, we about the cash
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| We got females that got it like that
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| The golden childs that bone the crowd
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| See niggas in the place that bit my style
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| Well I’m a singer, dancer, we bulletproof brothers
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| Wu-Tang got the answerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
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| Cuz if I had a chance, to do it again
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| I will still keep the heat in my pants, uh
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| Y’all be nice to the crackheads, everybody listen up I shot one of my bitches, the hoe ain’t trick enough
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| Word life to big screen Don, tapping dustbones out
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| With starwriters like I fucked Celine Dion
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| Stuck everything that’s the god’s honest beyond
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| We airin’niggas out that’s the type shit that we on Official Wu-Tang headbanger
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| Flood your space with big waves like you didn’t set an anchor
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| Yo, I drink heavy gallons of Crew, play the big part
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| niggas got squid on the grill, selling kids Clarks
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| Finesse notes, yo, the Guess on with the best pose
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| Yellow swede one matching hat with the grey gun
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| Niggas be rhymin’for nothing, then my team pull up We all throw down y’all broke niggas stay frontin'
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| Lines come digital stupid, plus my team got
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| 'nuff jury on, bet I’m still live and I’m coopin'
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| Two of my silverbacks run through a pack of your wolves
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| Front on react and sippin’Cog-i-nac so relax dude
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| Know I’m with these cracks dude
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| Yo, 1, 2… Dirt McGirt!
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| Solid tone smith with 5th shots, lick shots
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| Leave your head like a Shaolin monk with 6 dots
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| Brooklyn, Zoo, Zoo (Yo)
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| Brooooklynnnnnnn… ZOO! |
| (Yo!)
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| It’s the return of Bin Laden, grab your armor
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| Smash pretty boy niggas, crush they karma
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| Eat bones with alligators, roll deep, with my entourage
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| My whole crew’s fresh out the bars
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| Diggler, AKA the Cab Driver
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| Drop him off in the middle of fire
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| Dirty Island, drag bodies to the murderland
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| Knock niggas out hurtin’my hand
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| I remember in the elevators when we was playin’corners
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| Now we play the corners and the cops is stayin’on us, (uh)
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| Staten’s where the war is where the court system’s running out of warrants
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| Where TNT be jumping out the Taurus
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| For real I can’t call it you see I love Lucy cuz she Lawless
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| Exactly like that 1−0-3−0-4 is Snitch niggas swallow your tongue
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| Already know the island I’m from
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| And y’all don’t want no problems with them
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| We got a history, full of lightning victories
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| Conceptual breakthrough it ain’t no mystery
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| Long vision, from giants in every way
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| Rap czars, magnificent flows for every day
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| From the East to the ville, from the West to the hills
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| Incredible rhymes, encouraging skill
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| From rat packs, the smallest crews were enormous
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| They hit 'em fast, with an effortless performance
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| MCs start fleeing in flocks
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| Especially those that’s more sensitive to heat and shock
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| We grindin', down to the bone
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| My name grounded in stone
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| I’m Mr. Violence we loungin’with Chrome
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| Mr. Violence we lounge in his home, hit the housing on Rome
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| Shining like a hundred thousand in stones
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| Move mountains with poems, got a jones for dinero
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| 1−6-zero my songs we throwin’elbows
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| The hoes cling, sho thing, we know kings
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| Only dime dikes, with minds right, we choose Queens
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| Yeah we wild like rockstars who smash guitars
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| Yo son split his face with the toast, he ain’t Ghost
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| It’s no joke iron coat rife him with the stroke
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| One toke brains float, shot to the throat
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| Before the smoke hit, witness the killing
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| On the crime scene
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| Body on the block
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| Eyes open from the shock
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| Of being popped in the neck
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| Yet he still had a lit cigarette between his fingertips
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| Danger when you step into the chamber with the master
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| Disaster, gotta blast ya, cuz I hafta
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| The rat pack is back from the island of Stat'
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| Leave you cursed off, cuz you worship the gat
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| The first one to snap drunk off the Smirnoff
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| Blow the bouncer’s ear off, let him floss he the boss
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| Handcuffed, to the turntables like, Wizard Theodore
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| See it’s pure, let iy rain curly ounces
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| Bang him with the thing that hang from the trousers
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| You don’t want no drama, I’m flaming fast
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| That nigga jumped up and did the Damon Dash (Dash.) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 9 Milli Bros, artist - Ghostface Killah. Album song GhostDeini The Great, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп