Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Conflict, artist - Royal Flush. Album song Ghetto Millionaire, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 18.08.1997
Record label: Blunt
Song language: English
Conflict |
| I want it all no question |
| Queens terrorism, at his best when I wear my vest and |
| Desert Eagle, inferred for protection |
| Interceptin, your collection, when I’m makin section |
| Nigga listen, I brake ya ass into submission |
| Professionalist, specializin in this |
| Hennecy wit a twist, another nigga miss |
| Gone in the abyss, fuckin wit the fish |
| Scratch him off the list |
| Automatic trey pound seven in my fist, get ya wig split |
| Green Eyes rise, Flushing, Queens, 'Lanz Enterprise |
| Wise got shine, forever brightly |
| Gats forever held tightly, this fight be (don't take us lightly) |
| Now stoned be the way Quaz' walk, reppin New York |
| For outlinin criminal bodies wit white chalk |
| Wildin these streets, I’m playin for keeps, avoidin the beast |
| To keep play the cemetery body, capisce |
| The hashish, made me unleash, six through his dome piece |
| And that’s just to say the least |
| But quote for quote, more dough choke throats like inhale smoke |
| Forever ready like nine volt, batteries |
| Lost casualties, ricochet through ya anatomy |
| Another tragedy, wit my family cause catastrophe |
| From Queens them Kings call me ya majesty |
| Drama has to be, my hostile days, from outta, puff lies |
| These high roller somethin, before my shots’ll start pumpin |
| 6−3 Thug, blow a nigga like drought |
| Some say my lifestyle, need to be change |
| Scramble and foul, 210 pound |
| Take nickel plate, who hold the weight now |
| Leave you hear, bouncin the whip, I’m sippin crystal |
| All thunked out, bent in the streets wit my pistol |
| My rhyme noters, rippin ya meat, for beef I hold it down |
| Fuckin wit the wrong cat, to many gats black |
| Phenom never suffer set back, I blast off just like a jet pack |
| To crack the barrel, Pacino through over dowel |
| Just get a title, find ya life blazin in the saddle |
| Knowin half the battle was just a Queens soldier story |
| And fuckin wit niggas unless you asset to all for me |
| Spotted the code, with five seconds to explode |
| Escape wit the scroll, my family gun ho |
| Five hundred mellows, crackin serafino |
| Ropin casinos, but seenin a man, wit gun totin, chico |
| That organize extortion like The Godfather sequel |
| To open eyes to all evils that peoples |
| Mainly maintain to do, shittin where I’m through |
| Fuck’s not given when I’m rippin through |
| Who is you? |
| I can see fast and blast past ya faggot attitude |
| Off top, the Remi had me bent dizzy and shit |
| Drunk like a Mexican, clap wit ya Fam wit Smith and Wesson’s |
| Rip, heavy wit shine, diamond flexin |
| Spot lock for possession, welcome to the real world |
| Taught 'em why I hate this (We don’t a fuck who it is) |
| Stop the bullshit, I guarantee you get hit, by Psycho Kiz |
| 1996 to the year I quit, nothin happenin |
| Fuck the yappin, and start clappin |
| All these savages movin backwards, splittin they wigs |
| Smashin 'em, shootin 'em, red rum for everyone |
| Fuck a key, Queens niggas move in tons |
| The real number ones, for the chest, ice fish still on the run |
| My desert needs a high rise, fuckin wit these wise guys |
| Can you recognize, Desert Storm, 'Lanz Enterprise |
| Smile like Einstein, jury drip, guns combine |
| You don’t want mine, gotta fight this all in one time |
| Plus ya override, bustin straight, you bustin the sky |
| I know you scared while I’m lookin at the devil inside |
| Rollin dice like my weapon, hold the four and a five |
| And a cold and hard where I was born from the start |
| Here to play a part, smokin weed and sellin the dark |
| And watchin out for NARCS, Flush and entourage in charge |
| And surround the espionage, we all livin large |