Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song It's What It Is, artist - Masta Killa. Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
It's What It Is |
| I know why you’re here… |
| You wanna test out hard with my kung fu |
| (No, I’ve come here -- and I need your help |
| Your steel darts, you still have them?) |
| What for? |
| (because they have guns |
| That kill up to a hundred yards, very powerful) |
| My darts could beat a pistol? |
| (You wanna help or not?) |
| {Duh-deh-duhn… live and direct |
| We got the connect, we gonna ride |
| Deh-duh-duh-deh-duhn… deh. |
| deh.} |
| «It's what it is!» |
| No question, sensational dart, no dollar superbs |
| Spoken word slang, throw them with perfection |
| Slick when he talk, simplistics, stand exquisite |
| Tiger palm smack ground, one man down |
| Got a few that’ll kill right now |
| Bring his crown back with Kunta, one-two |
| The truth and the square, dare any man to stare |
| Down the eye of the barrel, like a needle to the camel |
| You will never enter, nuff ammo |
| Shaolin Finger Jab, stab the man running |
| Deadly sold delivery, stunning poetry |
| For the masses, solid liquid gasses |
| Gather to a bomb explosion, Sony eruption |
| Frontin' on Pelon, Lei Long’ll get you swung on |
| Long barrel spinning rims on something foreign |
| Semi-auto flow spit forty five in the left grip |
| Right hold the mic tight, strike |
| With the force of Mike, when I’m speaking |
| Straight from the Hall of Justice, Hummers |
| Dirty bones, black 'Didas, black reefer in jars |
| We fly militant, brilliant thinkers, tanks |
| Yo, pull it together while we guzzle these drinks |
| We armed veterans, holding up swords |
| Driving Alfo Romeos, breaking down Sicily yayo |
| We seen the drama, drawing these heaters on cheaters |
| Shooting at bitches, hopping up domes for weight |
| We wild style gorillas, fly apes caught in Botanical Gardens |
| Trying to get back to the States |
| The harder they come, the harder we scrape |
| We coming back in jet lears, flying through the Tri-Boro today |
| What’s really good, live niggas go up beside niggas |
| Mad bullets sit in your hood |
| We titanium vets, with jet fuel, vision the biz |
| We orchestrated like no other, word to mother |
| Say, why’d you have to ask me, there are many experts |
| (I know you, you’re my brother |
| Also your darts are pretty formidable) |
| Heh, I must admit, it’s fast as the speed of light |
| Yo, I rock a black mask, homemade bottle of Goose |
| Toney moonshine his miracle herbs and African roots |
| Blow suits, slap A&R's, tapered your jaw |
| Had you chopping off your body parts like this was Saw |
| Cut raw, got the Fishscale flooding the streets |
| And Masta Killa’s blowing girders outta crystal sheets |
| Slay beats, just the Verra' boss, Wu-Tang Holocaust |
| Fuck around, leave you with a mouth full of murder sauce |
| Broken, hanging off the cross with one nail in |
| Chuck meat, ya chicken bones is looking real frail and |
| Heavy, my seventy seven got suicide doors, my wrist |
| Chirped up with pretty rocks, with no flaws |
| Guns stay barking like pitbull spiting, it’s frightening |
| How Ironman, ricochet lightning |
| Bob and weave, duck and squeeze |
| Why ya’ll can’t pop holes in the kids, holla! |
| «It's what it is!» |
| «It's what it is!» |