Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Shaolin ta Q.B., artist - Solomon Childs. Date of issue: 10.03.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Shaolin ta Q.B. |
| RonArtest.com, we got fire in here, you heard me, The Wu |
| World champion, yeah… we up in here |
| We up in here. |
| uh-huh (Du-Lilz, let’s go baby) |
| Shaolin, what up? |
| (Theodore Unit, Big O) |
| Shaolin and QB… (The Wu, let’s go) let’s go |
| Solomon Childs, this thought is just a ghetto prophecy |
| With walls of animosity |
| '76 born and conceived in a world of grieve |
| Titled tomorrow 'the killas’ll leave' |
| My poppa was a rolling stone, my poppa was a general |
| Shit, my momma had chrome |
| And also was a preacher’s daughter |
| My projects was the meaning of slaughter |
| I had to get knocked down to stand still |
| New York City’s new protocal, arson |
| I spit fire in the air like the Bronx |
| Music for niggas who kill NARC’s, black steel hawks |
| Associate with snakes and sharks, Solomon’s art |
| My little brother had rusty skates |
| We ate Roy Rogers, and my pops cocaine gates |
| Word to blood, they gon' feel my wrath |
| Like Rakim, with the tommy guns in '88 |
| We like Kane, be bout to set it straight |
| Let me zone, dun, brain waves flowing |
| Retarted pitbulls, steel clips and I’ll pull |
| Hopped off, start four of us, pockets swollen |
| Get rocked dog, move away from chain smokers |
| Cocaine growers, propane throwers |
| Shaolin, Q.B., hold strange toasters |
| Tru Warrier Records, Enterprise connections |
| Heavy ass necklace, what hood you repping? |
| The change gon' come, but I’m in it for that steady |
| Iron Horse to the Ferry, blowing on that berry |
| Throwback killas, still rock Cuban Linx |
| I ain’t hear nothing real, ever since the Purple Tape |
| The vertical drop rise, smash ya top five |
| Got a burner, don’t blast, that means you’re not live |
| Wu-Tang hits, I bone your chick in a beehive |
| Kick her ass out, with just a pair of knee highs |
| I don’t really care, just give me respect |
| Had the whole Queensbridge, we in video sets, yea |
| Crud love, and Theodore Unit |
| Anti-social, you hear us in the movie |
| Yo, I hold a track like Jevon Kearse |
| Get money while ya’ll faggot niggas on thirst |
| X-X-X, you just build with no doctors, freaks is hot |
| Shutting Enron down, like the square is out |
| In '89, Starter jackets and my Rakim grind |
| Combined, I like peace in the pop’em signs |
| Or Akim at clear, in them mosh hill times |
| Or R.K., showing wallets when it’s time to shine |
| Gangstas and Ghostface Killahs, cold murderous boy |
| You heard of Q.B., yea, there’s a herd of us |
| Street smart lyric industry can’t get us |
| Tourbuses and drop tops, get with us |
| Hennessey heating up the liver, got ya in a clutch |
| One second left, I deliver |
| One shot right through the neck of the Nets |
| Reppin' AQ2, kid, Buddah Bless |
| I rap because I wanna, aight, it’s off my chest |
| Yes, I’m a rapper and I wanna be the best |
| Why settle for less, Solomon, Trife, Theodore Unit rep |
| You gotta take it, just to earn your respect |
| Next up, I believe that’s me |
| Pass the mic to golden dog, the game, R.I.P |
| I’m higher than a fence when I’m jumping over trees |
| And Challace in the game, so you lames at ease |
| And it’s Crud Love, Q.B., Shaolin |
| Got a belt, long purple, sippin' on Henn, where shall I begin |
| Full court press, all around the best |
| Ron under the net, show respect, Protect Ya Neck |
| Blueberry track, cuz we back, playing chess |
| Sippin' on a Heineken, the building blowing black |
| None the less, laser tech, we block, you will prep |
| For the set, nigga, yea, we in it to the death |
| Cheddar chasing, don’t be a medical patient |
| Cuz niggas is erasing any type of altercation |