| Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal
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| You nizzles try to belittle, but ya’ll lest in spittle
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| From a baby’s lip, the digi made me flip
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| Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip
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| And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002
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| We be housin' crews, plus we housin' fools
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| In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools
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| Crazy shootin' dudes buck off the beat
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| Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf
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| Two guns in their hands yellin' «Fuck the police!»
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| On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece
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| Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo
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| On her breast that’s shaped like The W
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| Go 'head snatch the guns, son, I’ll cover you
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| And if they get past me we got another two, yeah…
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| We smoke those blunts the size of bats
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| We got those gats as long as ax
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| We snatch that cheese right off the trap
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| We put those Beez all on your map
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| I shoot the fair one, I dare ya’ll run through New York City
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| Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself
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| Ace my health, great with wealth
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| Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self
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| Or any man, woman or child that I call fam
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| That’s the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam
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| Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues
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| Nine o’clock news, abused the mind of many fools
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| Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues
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| From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent
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| Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings
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| We never die, built my name, sustained like blood
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| Flow through the veins divine sign
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| Dine with wine forever sunshine
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| We smoke…
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| From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band
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| Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor
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| Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba
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| Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca
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| Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date
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| Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate
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| How can you beat a G a week in '88?
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| Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod
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| Mama shouldn’t work so hard to pay the landlord
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| A grand in your birthday card, times is hard
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| The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz
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| We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head
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| Yo, the east so hot, it’s red, but that’s home
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| And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone
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| Sonny Corleone don’t discuss it on the phone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Whistle , by - RZA. Song from the album Birth Of A Prince, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп