Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sound The Horns, artist - Sadat X. Date of issue: 29.06.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Sound The Horns |
| Yeah, yeah… |
| Yeah, yeah… |
| Let’s go… |
| Yeah, listen… |
| The sound of the horns says it’s on |
| We storm through like C. Thomas, Red Dawn |
| Step like a don through the city, Deck bonds |
| I get my hands dirty, Nikes scuffed, sweat pouring |
| Still I stay fresh with the fly white linen |
| Duece times 5, that’s my type women |
| Sonny, I live it, O-10, S5 tinted |
| Brother Deck, what I rep, S.I., dig it? |
| Fifty cal' flow, get low |
| Intro to outro, bout it tho, whoa |
| Steady, heavy like the 5−2 Chevy |
| Niggas ain’t ready, I turn out your lights like Teddy |
| Roll like dice in the casino |
| Known to spit lava, Heat like DeNiro and Pacino |
| Manny Festo, Wu-Tang Gambino |
| Lay it down, then I fly off like the hero |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| The Wild Cowboy number one |
| G-O-D, how you gonna block out the son? |
| Read my jacket, my achievements stretch like a warning track catch |
| The in-crazable voice box, I throw you boys rocks |
| Diamonds and jewels, a holiday, pros that fuck in schools |
| I’m a tank, I stop panthers, take down stanzas |
| Sixteen bars, keep the car running |
| Broads stunting, feed ya self, kill ya self, take the pill |
| Punks jump up to get beat down |
| New York the sweet town I sorta, who’s on tour? |
| Who the vile, truth can say, you ain’t a slouch |
| Now Rule local, now I’m B.K. |
| vocal |
| Right out the X, you can work out your pecs and your back |
| Can beat the death with bats, need to tune up, NJ’ll turn the tune up |
| I’mma tell you who’s soon enough to got |
| And I ain’t down with getting crossed, and I never been the boss |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| Yo, you’re hog-tied, I’m roping them, bitches, I’m gropping them |
| Open up your veins, cop three bags of Dopium |
| Super soak these niggas, stroke with the magnum force |
| Leak it in the streets quick, peep my secret sauce |
| I keep it gloss, I’m suited up for my franchise |
| Your coins is tossed, man-handle bad guys |
| Scramble for my damn prize, crack cans of cold Guinness |
| I’m like Seabiscuit, I’mma win by a photo finish |
| Nigga, this ain’t tennis, yeah, I ain’t bluffing shit |
| I be the street menace on my David Ruffin shit |
| Police ain’t cuffing shit, claiming I’m a crook |
| Throw up my middle finger, I’m a hall of famer in my book |
| Right hook, death jooks, great with my footwork |
| Bubble through, got the W on my hood shirt |
| Sneak through the wood works like poisonous high fumes |
| I’m that superhero with the brand new costume |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| «Wu-Tang!» |
| «Wu-Tang!» |