Lyrics Shaolin ta Q.B. - Solomon Childs, Ron Artest, Ghostface Killah

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