Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Gold , by - GZA/Genius. Song from the album Liquid Swords, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 06.11.1995
Record label: A Geffen Records Release;
Song language: English
Gold |
| Aiyo shorty, yo that’s my word |
| Oh, y’all smelling y’all piss now y’all think y’all gold |
| Yo anybody get caught flinging over here |
| I’m returning 'em, that’s my word they getting blasted |
| Anything from 220 to 140, that’s mine |
| Y’all need to step the fuck off |
| Y’all niggas ain’t crazy for real |
| Yo, the fiends ain’t coming fast enough |
| There is no cut that’s pure enough |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |
| I’m deep down in the back streets, in the heart of Medina |
| About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor |
| Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise |
| So I can blast a nigga and his boys, for what? |
| He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop |
| Like the crash in the Dow Jones stock |
| I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch more mill’s |
| Than ho-bitches got birth control pills |
| I’m in the park setting up a deal over blunt fire |
| Bum nigga sleeping on the bench, they had him wired |
| Peeped my convo, the address of my condo |
| And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe |
| And while we set up camp, we got vamped |
| Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart |
| Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee |
| Blown out the frame like Pan Am Flight 103 |
| He got swung on, his lungs was torn |
| A kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn |
| A regular on the block that played lookout |
| For preying predator with a Glock, he should have took out |
| No neighbourhood is rough enough |
| There is no clip that’s full enough |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |
| Fiends ain’t coming fast enough |
| There is no cut that’s pure enough |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |
| It’s mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms |
| Big apes and spread 'em out like crops on a farm |
| To get cream, sometimes they repaint the scene |
| Like the last episode on gates, and other niggas |
| Plant bombs till the smoke from the blast becomes thick |
| And flows through, all they knew, he’s gun sick |
| His Glock clicks like high-heeled shoes on parquet floors |
| Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars |
| Filthy foul, shovelling dirt, he’s out to hurt |
| For instance, chop off hands, attack worth |
| His idols would lock down airports and extort |
| Some import, catching ten percent of what the fiends snort |
| Up in the ski resorts, up in hills |
| They move keys and had the skis making drops on snowmobiles |
| The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers |
| And live large and bigger than my nigga |
| Who promised his moms a mansion with mad room |
| She died and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb |
| Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors |
| And still organizes crime and drug wars |
| Fiends ain’t coming fast enough |
| There is no cut that’s pure enough |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |
| No neighborhood is rough enough |
| There is no clips that’s full enough |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |
| There’s no cuffs that’s tight enough |
| There is no niggas that’s fuck with us |
| I can’t fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload |
| Product must be sold to you |