Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song We Supreme , by - KIllarmy. Song from the album Prince Of New York, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 10.11.2008
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
We Supreme |
| You know the team, we bust them thangs |
| And when we come through wit them tanks, we blow off steam |
| The team supreme, we shine and gleam |
| So victorious and we always do our thing |
| Yo, back up on this bitch, like ain’t that a bitch |
| Look at B9 flossing like I struck it rich |
| And it’s no stopping me, how low can you skip? |
| This, CD power hour, and this our shit |
| And, even if you bought it, yo, we made the shit |
| We gonna blow like the grenade displayed on our shit |
| It’s, Killarm' for life, we just invading shit |
| So we proving that we nice, even though all six |
| Ain’t spit off clip, you will still get hit |
| By a six piece of head bar, followed by a kick |
| To your rib, dick, I be Kinetic, you heard it here first |
| Yo, on this record, I wreck shit |
| Bong, fuck a song is on some next shit |
| The reason why we took so long, we had to go perfect shit |
| Bong, now seek the exit, and even though you gone |
| We atleast get through a second, of the single flow |
| Aiyo, the Granddaddy Flow is still militant |
| Killarm' we killin' it, who wanna feel it? |
| I let the rhyme spit |
| Fresh out of jail, now I’m back in the mix |
| Niggas thought me and P.R. will never get back together |
| Now we back like furs and leathers |
| Fresh Guess watch, Gucci socks |
| Beyonce on my jock, rap flow clap niggas in Crimestock |
| He’s my brother-in-law, never disrespect, pa |
| Get your ass on the floor |
| Strip to ya Victoria Secret drawers |
| Yeah, so I can explore, militant galore |
| The type of shit that make bitches adore |
| Verbal assassin, lyrical dragon |
| I write wit passion, niggas stay flashing |
| Got to hit the check cashing, hit the clubs |
| Now I’m back on the map, I’m still macking |
| Back is the pistol popping, the knowledge dropping |
| Green like the camouflaging, the living large fam |
| Even though my nigga seen the slammer, we back |
| With some bad mama jammas, with the hammers |
| Is it the beats or percussion, the heat or discussion |
| The Germans or the Russians, the blacks or the Latins |
| My nigga’s back, you niggas know what’s happening |
| Is it the scripts or the tablets, the dicks or the maggots |
| The pigs or the rabbits, the bears in the forest |
| The lyrics or the chorus, I bum rush like Boris Zhukov |
| And wipe your blood on my new cloth |
| I’m at it, I leave you dead like flowers in the attic |
| I know I rhyme best with my crew, it’s a habit |
| Grab it, embrace it, and taste it like The Matrix |
| I know we hardcore, I was raised in the Army, and we never gon' fall |