| World, world, world, premiere, premiere, premiere
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| World, world, world, premiere, premiere, premiere
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| What these clown niggas hollerin'?
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| What they need to be hollerin', is «There go Theodore!»
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| Put the ball down, we can’t score
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| They pen shit to blackboards, make queens out of wack broads
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| You see us comin'? |
| Fuck that Fam shit, just pass off, you bitch
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| Crystal' Dana Dane’s wrapped around your neck
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| Lookin' rich, baow, you fucked up now
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| See my gun, nigga? |
| This baby got stuffed uptown
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| Shouted out, made a whole safe with the pump root pounds
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| My buddy, keep my gun, right next to my tummy
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| Ask the click, yo, they spit metal lungies
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| Detach wigs, kill flunkies off contact, sonsee
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| Didn’t mommy tell y’all niggas to wear clean undies?
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| See y’all should have listened to her
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| She knew her son had a big mouth, and some day death would occur
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| Please for Ms. Gale’s sake, and her seeds
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| Pastor Freddy ain’t fuckin' around, they knocked him with weed
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| Uh-oh (word up)
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| It’s them (what you talkin' bout, baby?)
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| Real kids spit that shit
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| Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, yo, yeah
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| Me and Starks clear projects parks
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| With our '93 shit, army coat green and light tan Clarks
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| Niggas think I’m lucky, bitches wanna fuck me
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| And put me in the tub with them like I’m a rubber ducky
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| I got a revolver in the pump about the size of Chucky
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| I remember faces easy as I tie my laces
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| Here, put the metal in your mouth, like you was rockin' braces
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| I spit an iron lungie, yeah, I’m old school like the Iron Monkey
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| My shit powerful enough to lift a fuckin' donkey
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| I got heavy chrome, niggas don’t care if you live or die
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| They happier that Marbury home
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| Ya’ll niggas better kill me, my street niggas feel me
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| Louch gotta eat, ends gotta meet
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| The hard shit you kickin' bout as R&B as Tweet
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| This is Theodore, D-Block, the year adore
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| The sunroof open with the four-four, niggas like.
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| Uh-oh (word up)
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| It’s them (what you talkin' bout, baby?)
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| Real kids spit that shit
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| Yeah… nigga this is Ghost with Ghostface
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| I don’t sell millions but I get millions from the fiends who smoke base
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| Somebody leavin' out with a poked face
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| Tone, you burn him and kick his teeth out, so we don’t catch no case
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| I’ma make him look like he smoke base
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| We don’t leave no trace
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| These rap niggas swear that they so safe
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| I don’t wanna talk to you holmes, I don’t communicate
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| My guns be in my hand more than my phone
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| And I could dial your number, knock the smile off your face
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| With the H.K. |
| 9, out the all-black hummer
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| Metal lungies’ll spit the grungiest shit
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| Hungriest shit, seventeen dummies a clip
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| Tell them rap niggas to suck my dick, fuck the industry
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| If shit shut down, they’ll still bust my shit
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| I got some hustlin' ass niggas that’ll pump my bricks
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| And some dust head niggas that’ll dump my clips, what?
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| Uh-oh (word up)
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| It’s them (what you talkin' bout, baby?)
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| Real kids spit that shit |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Metal Lungies, artist - Masta Killa. Album song Masta Killa Presents: The Next Chamber, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп