Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Duel Of The Iron Mic, artist - GZA. Album song Halloween Assassin, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 27.10.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: FP
Song language: English
Duel Of The Iron Mic |
Ohh mad one |
We see your trap |
You can never escape, your fate |
Submit with honor to a duel, with my son |
I agree |
I see you using an old style, I wondered where you had learned it from |
You know very well, it’s yours too |
(yo god, it’s a duel, it’s a duel) heh, by the gods, will you show me? |
(buck buck buck buck buck buck) and where do you come for? |
(duel of the iron mic) you come here, since you’re so interested |
(duel of the iron mic) fight me |
(in the moonlight niggaz I will strike) |
(what, what? bring it!) |
Yo |
Picture bloodbaths and elevator shafts |
Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft |
Check the print, it’s where veterans spark the letterings |
Slow moving mc’s is waitin for the editin |
The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry |
A gaseous element, that burned down your ministry |
Herbal vapors, and biblical papers |
Smokin exodus, every square yard is plush |
Fuck the screw-faced photo sessions facial expression |
Leaves impressions, try to keep a shark nigga guessin |
Give crazy shouts son here’s the outcome |
Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss |
Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of sterlings |
Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms, and tri-colored shearlings |
I ain’t particular, I bang like vehicular homicides |
On july 4th in bed-stuy |
Where money don’t grown on trees and there’s thievin mc’s |
Who cut-throat to rake leaves |
They can’t breathe, blood splash, rushin fast |
Like runnin rivers, I be that whiskey in your liver |
Duel of the iron mic! |
It’s the fifty-two fatal strikes! |
This is not a eighty-five affair, made clear |
When the gods get on to perform storms blew up |
Wu’s up, causin the crowd to self-destruct |
Killer bees are stingin somethin while I reveal |
Science, that’s heavily guarded by the culprit |
Bombin your barracks, with aerodynamic |
Swordplay, poison darts by the doorway |
Minds that’s laced with explosive doses |
Damagin lyrical launcher |
Lunge at the youthful offender then injure |
Any contender, testin the murderous master |
Could lead to disaster, dynamite thoughts |
Explode through your barrier, rips the retina |
Who can withstand the astonishing punishing |
Stings to the sternum, shocked in the hip-hop livestock |
Seekin for a serum, to cure em |
Adults kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust |
Duckin handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush |
Out of town foes look shook but still pose |
We move lioke real pros through the streets we stroll |
Bullet holes lace the windows in one-six oh |
So control the avenues that’s the dream that’s sold |
Bulding lobbies are graveyards for small-timers |
Bitches caught in airports, keys in they vaginas |
No peace, yo the police mad corrupt |
You get bagged up, dependin if you’re passin the cut |
Plus shorty’s not a shorty no more, he’s livin heartless |
Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest |
Individual, critical thoughts, criminal minded |
Blinded by illusion, findin it confusin |
Duel of the iron mics (the master, he must be dreaming, heh) |
It’s that fifty-two fatal strikes (well, if he is dreaming…) |
Duel of the iron mics (…then he must be asleep) |
It’s that fifty-two fatal strikes, nuh (and if he is asleep) |
(then I will wake him up!) |
(weahhhhaah-hah-hah!) |
At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another |
Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy |
In the passion and depth of their struggle |
They very art, that had raised them through such rapiant heights was lost |
Their techniques, vanished |