Lyrics Bloody Samurai - RZA, Thea Van Seijen, Black Knights

Bloody Samurai

Yeah;
I’m like daredevils, I dare devils to take it to that level
Make 'em dig they own grave with they own shovels
Sharpshooter, drop helicopters, black out shadows
'Cause when it’s time to ride, it’s like pedal to the metal
Full fledged, beat suicidal, leave holes with skull heads
Hit your cult for your vault, leave 'em all dead
And some nice swipe game plus handsome
Hoes hold me ransom get mad and throw tantrums
Seven braids like Samson, strength of Job
Since these niggas wanna trip, I make it all unfold
Didn’t choose the genie, didn’t choose the leprechaun
Niggas better watch the gravesite they stepping on
Thinking it’s a game I rose him, now your ass is frozen
Nuclear explosion, we straight West Coastin'
I was born as a soldier, and I’ll fight in a field
I’ll run like a hunter, and I’ll die in the field
Bloody samurai, my feat will never die
Bloody samurai, my sword will never die
The street apostle with Roscoe’s
That’ll burn flesh off your fossil
Make you suck on that nozzle
'fore you swallow these hollows
Clutching a bottle, yeah, I’m a hard act to follow
Nigga, I don’t write raps
Little homey, I write novels
Every chapter I capture, the mind of millions
When I slang raps like crack, to the women and children
Bring down the building
Crowd roars oh what a feeling
Feels good like I’m puffing on that sticky chameleon
The street villain
Made most of his money from drug dealing
It’s rules to the game, trust nobody that’s squealing
Cuz snitching is a pet peeve
Like a bitch with a bad weave
It’s not honor amongst thieves, nigga deal wit greed
I’m from a breed of real killas
That’s cutthroat
That’ll front you to work and kill you if a buck short
Bloodsport
Flick you like the butt of my Newport
Or with the butt of my gun
Take that, nigga, run
I come to stop the hollering and screaming, blaow
Stop screaming, make a nigga wish he still dreaming
Since appearing against a ninja, taught him barbarianism
South Central mentalism
Like the local news on the local high school for all this realism
Don’t let all the whites go there cause all the whites’ll go there
Have 'em all braiding they hair, and having tattoos
And street numbers instead of good grades from school
It’s like ridicule, and what would Jesus do?
If he was standing at apartment, he was beeping with that dizzle
Like a hole ain’t enough to end all ridicule
But a hoe’ll get real holy enough to preach and end you
Bloody samurai, my feat will never die
Bloody samurai, my sword will never die
If you win, I’ll tell you where to find the number two
If I win, I have your head
Do we have a deal?