Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Spotlite , by - Mathematics. Song from the album The Problem, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 27.06.2005
Song language: English
Spotlite |
| Come on! |
| Yeah… yeah. |
| Yo, yo |
| Wu-Tang, we always in the Spot Lite |
| Get paper, every night is hot night |
| We stay tight, we just livin' our life |
| We just livin' our life |
| I drink till I’m drunk, smoke skunk with my stinkin ass, smell the funk |
| Eekin out the pours, cum stain, shitty drawers |
| Pissin' down ya elevators shaft, no class, writin graf' on ya walls |
| It be us, fuck ya law, nigga, my cause is «because» |
| No yin to my yang, it’s a black thing |
| Used to be in chains, now we snatch chains |
| Took the crack game applied it to the rap game, y’all |
| Pop quiz, now, what artist hits the hardest? |
| Get down with the syndrome: retarded |
| I think it was them swordsmen, place ya chess pieces on the boards and |
| Take it to square, this ain’t no Yacub affair |
| Or a New World Disorder, got us, fuckin the coal miner’s daughter |
| That y’all, but not us |
| Fly back, flag a cab and say «check ya» |
| Next time you see me, say peace and I’ll respect ya, Tical |
| Yo, lights, cameras, don’t forget the action |
| The needle skip, but the turntable scratchin' |
| Chain blow, bangles, heavy on the cashin' |
| Same old, Range rove', rainbow Manhattan |
| Craftmen, captive, still I’m avalanchin' |
| Holy war, handsome, break 'em off harassin' |
| Latest fashion, passion, bullets reign gashin' |
| Flippin' through frenzy, the same Wu-Tang |
| The Hollywood frame, purple haze stain |
| Rules of dame, fools, choose to bang |
| Nigga, you lose, Wu, bruise the game |
| A few men came, that really held weight |
| Drop, Chinese bars, stars in fifty-two states |
| Like, bats out of hell, we crash the gates |
| Without a base, left the gun powder case |
| Ladies chase, the hip-hop Babyface |
| Word up, throw your hands in the air, like you just don’t care |
| Wu-Tang in your atmosphere, everybody say «Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah» |
| Mic Capone, it’s best to avoid my strike zone |
| I zone and swing a sword that’ll slice stone |
| Nice clone, but you could never match the born master |
| Who tore back half the world, and still saught after by |
| Dick ridin' niggas, and chicks who do ditto |
| Singin' like the Four Tops, providin' info |
| See me low, through the Jeep window, the chrome spins slow |
| Gene-ral on the J.O., survival M. O |
| For now get wild, similar to Ol' Dirty |
| A third time felon just hit with over thirty |
| Note worthy style, have them so thirsty |
| First degree heat, you quittin' on me |
| Cold turkey, no mercy |
| Wu-Tang, put you in the Cobra Clutch, til you give up |
| Ya’ll can live up to, Witty Unpredictable |
| Street mentality, return of the cavalry |
| 36 Chambers, we off key block |
| Black on the block, tell ya D.J.'s to quit |
| M.C.'s, to stop that bullshit |
| Me, Ghost and Rae, we known to pull shit |
| Step with the brick, on some Ice Water shit |
| Wallo’s in all colors (now) let’s get chips, like |
| Robbin' the bank, pull up with the new whips |
| Don’t get mad, respect rank |
| No matter how you gettin' dough, give thanks |
| Everybody hold up your shanks |