Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Warriors , by - Royce 5'9. Release date: 28.09.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Warriors |
| Check the scene, pappas |
| Slaughterhouse, still standin |
| There was a murder last night |
| and the shit didn’t really sit right with me |
| So I had to tell a story |
| Ohhhhhhhhh baby! |
| Blood on the walls, |
| America’s worst nightmare, ahead by light years |
| Hip-Hop's only shining star in the night’s air |
| Right here, don’t fight fair, what I write yeah |
| Might there, throw 'em off like they Bobby Knight’s chair |
| I been where you tryin to be, I’m already hot |
| All about cake, Betty Crock' and spit ready rock |
| They know my bar came venom in a bezzie rock |
| Kicked from fight club, outfit from Eddie Brock |
| I’m goin for the kill, focused on a steady plot |
| John Wilkes the Booth like when he dead aimed his nezzie shot |
| You listenin to hip-hop's finest |
| You rewind this, Slaughterhouse behind this |
| I like rap, this shit is cool, I’m better than mad niggaz |
| But I’m just as good a crack pitcher as a pad ripper |
| I say that to say this |
| Don’t let mad liquor turn me to a bodybag zipper and not a ad-libber |
| Couple joints ago I was right on that ave wit’cha |
| Mad bigger than the cats David Tyree had last winter |
| I’m not a made-up character |
| That’s a Puerto Rican Brooklynite with two kids y’all see in them mag pictures |
| And however I gotta feed 'em I will |
| All they ever gon' need in life is just, me and my will |
| Interfere with that it’s gon' be more than a beat that I kill |
| Disrespect with an indirect and you will see if I’m real |
| Fuck you blood-suckin parasites |
| I’m bringin the terror right in front of your parents' sight |
| You parents' eyes, and yeah I wear a pair of pipes |
| I wear 'em like Sega like on a pair of thighs |
| I’m Eric Wright, I’m (Ruthless), I terrorize |
| You’ll either perish or be paralyzed; |
| I’m a thousand degrees Fahrenheit |
| I’m even keepin them heaters when we perform |
| On stage rockin like we from Korn, the people roar |
| What they don’t know it’s a secret war |
| inside of a rider I’m seekin revenge on the world for bein born! |
| And the desert eagle is «mi amor» |
| She’ll fuck you to death, blow your brains, either or cause she a whore |
| Allow me to reassure your stripe’s worthless |
| Like a pair of Diadora’s when it leaves the Adidas store |
| Don’t be comparin us to rappers |
| Compare us to the Arabs, this a terrorist attack, uh — BOOM! |
| Lord have mercy, we here to destroy EVERY-thing |
| You niggaz is butter in front a FUCKIN machete swing |
| Motherfucker I’m fly, I ain’t no scary goon |
| Try me and I guarantee you I’ma see you very soon |
| Leave a nigga ass out like Prince, take his bitch |
| Put my (Graffiti Bridge) right (Under Her Cherry Moon) (woo!) |
| We notorious, pushin them Porsches |
| Y’all niggaz the orphans; |
| US, we the warriors |
| Ohhhhh, wait a minute papis |
| Royce, slow down baby |
| This rap shit is a workout on my legs (why?) |
| A nigga goin hard on his bike but two million dudes is jumpin on the pegs |
| They know when that raw shit get recorded |
| Either let your speakers enforce it or lay down in a moshpit |
| Of course it’s the bosses, actin like officers |
| Runnin in these corporate offices |
| Hungry lookin for a four-course dish no matter what the cost is |
| Like the world’s lawless so we don’t know what remorse is |
| Cause the V need like a thousand horses |
| Slaughterhouse hoodie on, that’s my new couture shit |
| It’s Jumpoff! |
| He be the best |
| Computers rank me number 1, blame the BCS |
| It’s they fault nigga |
| Ask about your boy, I’m nice with my hands |
| Maybe that’s why, every last thing I write is a jam |
| Minus the fans, the flights to Japan, I am the man |
| Anyone who feel they could see me is in dire need of a eye exam |
| My mind expands wider than the fanbase of a fire band |
| And what I release from my diaphragm |
| sticks to you, like the wrists of Spiderman |
| Fool a average listeners what you liars can do but you will die a scam |
| When I die they will retire my entire hand |
| for years of scripted whoop-ass, makin intruders try a can |
| I guess the moral of the story is Joell’s victorious |
| And e’rything’s all gravy like Notorious |
| I left a nigga dead cause he said he was ready for I |
| Let the Beretta give him wings since he said he was fly |
| I’m in my Chevy ridin to «Bar Exam"and «Mood Muzik» |
| They the closest to «Reasonable Doubt"and «Ready to Die» |
| Crooked I, watch for snitches and wire devices |
| My fo'-fifth, fire in crisis, lift you higher than prices |
| All my ice, and on the mic, I am the nicest |
| Me and my bitch ride for life like Osirus and Isis |
| Yeah, word to Run-D.M.C. |
| I’m (Tougher Than Leather-face) |
| Never threw a gun in the trash but they call me Weapon Waist |
| It’s like you movin from the projects to the Hamptons |
| The way my hammers be sendin bastards to a better place |
| Let me set it straight, they fans been led astray |
| Niggaz keep gassin with guns with unleaded spray |
| They don’t know they one flow, one medic away |
| From bein taken away from here in the leaded state |
| I handle all of my serious issues with metal |
| I stick you so deep in the earth your zipper can tickle the devil |
| I’m skippin the pick and the shovel |
| I’m pickin you up and I’m shovin your head in the mud until your kickings is |
| level |
| Pardon I live for the moment, you rhymin I give the atonement |
| like the Indians, I scalp and I wig the opponent (yeah) |
| But I’m a chief, matter fact I’m a BEAST |
| I’m a motherfuckin Slaughterhouse G |
| BOOM! |