Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Chains, artist - Masta Killa. Album song Masta Killa Presents: The Next Chamber, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопChains |
| Keep on knowin’what you know |
| Keep on knowin’what you know |
| End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains |
| Back in '88, son was gettin’a little paper |
| Caught a few stings, rocked the phat rope cables |
| Pushed the white Mercury Sable, known for holdin’heat |
| Pharoah garmer marks on his feet, serpents whisper |
| You can smell the deceit, they greet me like peeps, to blend |
| And try to befriend, to get up, underneath the skin |
| My long wind’ll blow ya head piece degrees |
| Murder One Team, Barcelini Noodle had lean |
| Microphone fiend, step into the rhythm |
| This is how I’m servin’them, no need for medic attention |
| I just murder them, murder them… pussy, I just murder them |
| I’m a dip-dip diverse, socializer |
| I’m a hoof flat top rule, in eighty niner |
| They say Rugged, by now, you should of at least blown |
| It’s funny, I’m mad famous for being unknown |
| I’m just a dirty motherfucker, they hate my guts |
| All I talk about is bitches, and bustin’nuts |
| Yeah, I got a foul mouth, yeah, I cuss too much |
| I’m just so Ricky Ricardo, ri-di-cu-lous |
| And I ain’t got no fly whip, I still ride the bus |
| I got Mitch Blood Green on the scene with us Hospitable, hitable, cooler, than Jacob who criminal |
| Miracle, lyrical, take every syllable literal |
| Little riddle, profitable, visible, iritibal |
| Little brittle, pitiful, for so through little, you tickle, you typical |
| Yeah, I talk shit, I’m cocky with it It’s hard for you to admit it, but I’m one of the best in it My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves that’s torment |
| Slow down my steps, one foot from the grave to con it Our young black males, they lick pon gate |
| Son of the morning, roasted souls, tell Minister «come pray» |
| It’s gun trade inside of smokey apartments |
| Flow process, one nine, two tech, four revolvers |
| Coke overballing kettels, it’s like we struck oil in the ghetto’s |
| We supply it to addict’s, the devil work |
| He practice, he’s like a search backwards |
| Til they throw that dirt in our casket, and that’s it I live where the fiends are nothin', just a scene of the projects, similar to Osama’s |
| An old man, at the top of the stairs, he just stare |
| Cuz his mind ain’t there, victim of the war |
| Polar signs, the times is near |
| He drop the jewels, til you buy him a beer |
| He said he was a linebacker for the Bears |
| Said he did it all back, while he’s dryin’his tear |
| Yeah, it’s that real shit, that made me That music from the '80's, the child’s of the '70's |
| I live long til they bury me… |
Artist lyrics: Masta Killa
Artist lyrics: R.A. The Rugged Man
Artist lyrics: Killah Priest