Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song International Currency [Intro], artist - Royal Flush. Album song Ghetto Millionaire, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.08.1997
Record label: Blunt
Song language: English
International Currency [Intro] |
To executioners, all the murderers, drug dealers, burglars |
Interstate traffickers, gun runners, gat clappers |
I can’t call it cousin, this currency got me buggin |
Streets’ll thumpin, the loose rocks for jugglin |
Shorties be smugglin, importin keys for the government |
Other men, choose the street life to comprehend |
Thugs and murderers, inside, power will have you turn against |
Your whole fam, fuckin up money inside the program |
How much could I stand, two shots to third grand |
Ultimate crime plans, this fam blocks for grands |
I’m tryin to make a mill, for real, so chill, let the God build |
Reality, based on this tax free drug salary |
Wit real mentality, bustin straight through galaxy |
My mind rather be, lost as you never heard me |
Flush, your black majesty, another reason of tragedy |
These is never baggin me, Wastlanz forever be |
Drug tech’s and felonies, so what the fuck you tellin me? |
Overseas, this currency, I keep it real confident |
Fuck felony cases, finger prints, names and faces |
Get rich niggas snitch in places you escape |
I hate, this fate that I was dealt in this game |
That’s why I utilize, crime in my mind, to maintain |
Caught the six fifths and coke, plus I jumped out the boat |
Styrofoam the chrome, so the stay float |
When the jiggs come, cock the guns, bustin back though |
Got the calico, to shatter through their teflon and window |
An all out war for stack, the crime king of crack |
It’s no stoppin, till my life go black |
When I react, empty a two clips up in his back |
Fuckin up a g pack, trickin money on the hood rat |
Peace to murder stack, keep these drugs format |
Try and a, supreme my team, it be that cat that’s phat |
Wastlanz, my fam, the grand’s you know |
Cuz I’m soon to blow the world, big Phenom Pacino |
Precautionary measure, endeavors to get the treasures |
It’s all about steam cream and inferred beams |
It seams, my 'Lanz team’ll reign supreme inside this drug thing |
Above thing, our thug sling, my lovin queen |
Got me up in Flush, Queens, buildin like Monopoly |
Yaks, clocks and property, shout to streets |
Choppin keys for prophecy, the street prophecy proceed in the year 3 |
Constantly ridin cuz solidatin enterprisin devise the scheme |
Eyes Green straight from outta Queens |
To seen my shinin gleam, hundred shot magazine |
Blowin out niggas spleens, whoever intervene |
I see my dreams, to do my thing to make them tangible |
My fam is unmanageable, chop ya hands off and hand them to you |
Makin moves, state to state weight sales |
In school, cash rule, my Wastlanz fam stays true |