Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Club Scene, artist - Shyheim. Album song Manchild, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 21.06.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Wu-Tang
Song language: English
Club Scene |
| You want lessons? |
| It’s to get with it, we out nigga |
| Come on! |
| I came into the party with my fly Wu-Wear shit on |
| Two hundred in, my teeth flex, gotta throw my hit on |
| Movin through the crowd with my shines hangin out |
| Hit the bar, for a Henney straight, no chaser |
| Guzzle it down, honies crowdin around the Killa Bee |
| Buy you a drink, you kidding? |
| Love, you got to be |
| Since you on my dick, won’t you buy me a drink? |
| Chewin my ear off, tellin me that she met me in the rink |
| I don’t get tricky, got too much G |
| Got a degree in P.I.M.P-alogy, acknowledge me |
| Not a playa, teach these niggas how to be, I’m ?Wallabeeneny? |
| Thugs throw it up, everytime they see me |
| I hollow back, «Where the bats at?» |
| Baseball fitted hat, 7−1-8ths, New York Yanks' |
| She was Miss Elliot Trace, from her shoes to her face |
| With a body just like a Ferrari shape |
| She asks me, «How you get that cut on your face»? |
| That’s when the DJ shouted out, «Shyheim's in the place» |
| I was high off the notion and case |
| It must have been her birthday cuz she was holdin mad cake |
| Her man holdin no weight |
| He low-budget, she told me we was fluckin |
| We with two of her friends and three of her cousins |
| We in the corner whinin, my whole team’s shinin |
| It’s time to go when these fake rappers start rhymin |
| For real son |
| You know the club scene, 7−40, I beam |
| You know the club scene, big icy links and minks |
| You know the club scene, fuck around and get shot |
| You know the club scene, niggas spend all they got |
| You know the club scene, shorty, she lookin hot |
| You know the club scene, niggas be on Bra' |
| You know the club scene, you better tuck your watch |
| You know the club scene, we flossin in the parkin lot |
| There’s a party goin on, down the blizz-ock |
| In this little hot box, but you might get shot |
| Cuz there’s a lot of Knuckleheadz, who’ll be playin this club |
| A hole in the wall, I got my gun in, ain’t searchin at all |
| I watch you hand-to-hand niggas, that be tryin to ball |
| With your little ghetto-fame, Tech to snatch your chain |
| They used to call him Killa, now Got-Murdered his name |
| I smack Earth, Wind & Fire out lames |
| Take money, thuggin ain’t a thing |
| I got my drink in my right hand, left hand in my pants |
| I don’t dance, just be loungin in my B-boy stance |
| Respect my gangsta, move like an army at war |
| Spit some Willy in the air, and we slid out the door |
| About a quarter to 4:00, jumped in the 4×4, smooth like velour |
| Say no more, every party I go to, I bring a bird home |
| Call me Cabosa Indiana Jones |
| I had this show O.T., at this venue called Ritz |
| I was rockin the mic, when I noticed this bitch |
| She was lickin her lips and her rubbin her tits |
| I can tell that she stripped, I had to politic |
| But she was with this achin bitch, Alienation bitch |
| Throwin peanuts in my Jif, makin me sick |
| Etcera, etcera, I’m liable to get rid of her |
| I don’t give a fuck |
| Took her in the bathroom, picked her up in the tub |
| I’m like a drug, I be stalkin the club |
| Ladies beware, eighteen and above, what? |
| I’m a heart-breaker, the mind-raper |
| That don’t spend no paper and don’t like bitches that wear makeup |