Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song E.N.Y. House, artist - Masta Killa. Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
E.N.Y. House |
| Yeah, it’s like salutation, greeting |
| Ladies and gents, good evening |
| I’m the speaker for the evening |
| Get up out your chair, throw your hands in the air |
| Have drinks on me, hit it slow, though |
| Each dose, well potent |
| Some particle, compound into one article |
| The headline read, shall I proceed? |
| Hell yeah, well let the turntable spin |
| Like the chrome on the G wag' Benz, let’s begin |
| Aiyo, spit that shit, that make niggas wanna lick they Glock |
| When I grab the microphone, I can’t stop |
| To drop that shit that make you get «ahh» |
| Down on your face, with your the gun to your -- |
| Ladies in the club, they frontin' like -- |
| My brothers in the club, we try’nna get «ahh» |
| Look, another smash hit, my niggas from the boulevard |
| East New York squad, in the yard gettin' ripped |
| 'Least twenty five a clip, a hundred men stomp in ya face |
| The wolves barkin', careful, you might get trampled |
| Caught flashin', wrap him in the masking tape |
| Jimmy Basking, murder was the case when the crowd break fool |
| Iron Mic Duel held down by the poolside |
| Along came a spider, spun spools in a cypher |
| Screamin' on your mic, leads spray from the sawed off pipe |
| Stenographer type, the ghetto hype slang, flow roll |
| Like water off the brim when it rain |
| Iron Maiden, checkmating, no escaping, we takin' it |
| Aiyo, spit that shit, that make niggas wanna lick they Glock |
| When I grab the microphone, I can’t stop |
| To drop that shit that make you get «ahh» |
| Down on your face, with your the gun to your -- |
| Ladies in the club, they frontin' like -- |
| My brothers in the club, we try’nna get «ahh» |
| So terrifyin', so electrifyin' |
| Ya’ll niggas can’t deny, it’s so death defyin' |
| Also, unique, it’s so much heat |
| On the turntable wax, when I speak on the beat |
| One-two, throw it up, like you came to give it up |
| Drop something in the collection cup, for the cause |
| Of the sixteen bars, fast cars and jewelry |
| Fine silk, Cantonese wine make the rhyme shine |
| Bright on the seven continent |
| Take it to the fullest extent |
| Go anywhere, and live |
| Aiyo, spit that shit, that make niggas wanna lick they Glock |
| When I grab the microphone, I can’t stop |
| To drop that shit that make you get «ahh» |
| Down on your face, with your the gun to your -- |
| Yeah, P. Diddy, I know you dancin' |
| Crowd still movin', ladies groovin' |
| When the God show and provin' |
| Shit went something like that, I can’t remember how that go. |
| Knawhatimean? |