Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dangerous Minds, artist - Gravediggaz. Album song Wu-Chronicles: Chapter 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.07.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Wu
Song language: English
Dangerous Minds |
I got stress on my brain that causes chest pains |
Inside the best frames ghetto blood clots is scored by slug shots |
And drug spots, well if you’re too poor to move out |
Or get a new house, it’s like living in a war walking through shootouts |
And you doubt God exists, when hard fists |
Be pounding on your head like jackhammers |
You’re trapped in the black drama, you hear the laughter |
Seconds after that you fade out, you’re played out, you’re laid out |
Your heart nearly gave out, you’re lucky that you made out |
With just a few scars when the beating ends |
The streets let ya breathe again |
But evil men, will soon be on the receiving end |
Of Universal Law, I’m calling on the meek and the poor |
To fight back and never forfeit the day you have to go to war |
With forces that are armed upon the seven continental borders |
A mental fortress is essentials to absorb this |
My sword hits the human orb until it orbits |
In the 'Art of War', kids see Grym Reap be morbid |
Since pieces of the lost civilization in the past |
Had my photographs etched inside of pyramids |
To laugh at this revelation, without 365 days of concentration |
And twenty-four hour meditation, would be foolishly pagan |
I’m ancient as 'amen', see I stay Grym |
Throwing fools in in a pit full of pit bulls to be shaken |
Or strapped to the crossroads of Hell and inner sin |
Which trap the sinners in, to sell such in Sing-Sing |
I bring Grym tidings, tidal your wave are not exciting |
Stop riding the dick, start writing your own shit |
Cause I stick figures that think they fat and can’t rap wind blast |
I make 'em Slim Fast, looking like stick figures |
I’m all that, I bag chips at concerts and shows |
Get more panties than hoes that boost Victoria Secret clothes |
Foes is tagged like ex-foes toes at the coroner’s |
Kids with cold feet rise and fall like the barometer |
Grym will mentally chop your career |
See shit is locked down here, like penitentiary blocks in tears |
Escape outta your ducts every time you hear my name |
You better duck fate or catch a fucking face full of duct tape |
You get smacked like a trick that sniffed off her money |
Then smoked like Rzarector with the blunts dipped in honey |
Rotate your head like a gyro, my hair grows in knotty spirals |
Feet resembles Christ’s description from the Bible |
Water-walker, immune to all physical torture |
Pull out fast in a Porsche, upon a double-crosser |
My penis rise up in the morning like a Phoenix |
And blast iron cells into a low blood anemic |
The imperial material’s venereal |
MCs get murdered in serial, you can’t fuck with the material |
Unorthodox paradox, my shit is seen widescreen Magnavox |
Grabs thought like Doctor Octopus |
Cause war like the grandson of Kush |
I’m hanging devils' heads on a evergreen bush |
Sugar-frosted sorceresses bitches get exhausted |
Pussy lips be dripping, like leaky faucets |
Undercover C-Cyphers sprayed up like windshield wipers |
While I’m guzzling Pipers, changing my son’s shitty-ass diapers |
Dime piece trapped in sync like MIDI time piece |
You get stampeded by the wildebeest |
A rap DATs, bust tracks back like Chow Yun Fat |
Oppositional forces get their eardrums flat |
Common denominator, I swing the mic saber like Vader |
You was fooled by the orientation made from a traitor |
MCs get their wigs blown, trounced off both fist bone |
Choked from my death, every time they break a wishbone |
Eventually, I knew the whole world would mention me |
Potentially, I have the Chi to make G’s |
MCs breeze on my tracks, I rock the fruit with the trees |
Killa Beez spread rapid like diseases |
See it’s like the second coming of Jesus of Nazareth |
Be fabulous, raise the dead crowd up like Lazarus |
Hazardous vocabulary attacks be beautiful |
Acoustical notes we provoke, it comes out musically dope |
Niggas realize they just can’t cope |
The hair busting out the head resembles fire and smoke Loc |
I blast watts in circuits like General Monk-Monk was Turkish |
My science is divided deep into your central nervous |
Pervert area codes peep this murder |
I’m boxed-in, sucking hologram tits, inhaling oxygen |
Parallel world of crab niggas and seashells mix |
I pierce my dick and sword right through you pelvics |
I’m hell stricken bomb, wrapped in trees of palm |
Physical existence is descendants of Allah |
I travel at high rates, weaker men are primates |
That either migrate or get burnt to the stake |
I feed off lyrical light beams of amphetamine |
My terminology is panatomic like lobotomy |
Crazy el loco, gas niggas like Sunoco |
Flush 'em like presto, blast in your chest bone |
I raise from the shore like Sodom and Gomorrah |
With traction, flashing a 4-wheel drive Ford Explorer |
While mucus lies within the center of the Rubik’s |
The roots of the wine induced the enzymes inside your nucleus |
Turmoil boiling appointed, niggas rubbing off my style like an ointment |
Lost in the Sahara from trial and error |
Confused with 3 Mules for Sister Sara |
Rahh! |
Bearer, digesting minerals in abundance |
Because the dead is not known to return from the dungeons |