Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Godz in the Front , by - Styles of Beyond. Song from the album Reseda Beach, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 21.10.2012
Record label: Tokyo Sex Whale
Song language: English
Godz in the Front |
| Champion hoods that I rock, new Nikes out the box |
| Will attract your little chick then lock it down |
| All the Demigodz shit sound |
| Hardcore |
| Reloadin' my .44 like «click» |
| Box cutter slicin' open your six pack |
| Demigodz attack, motherfucker better start fallin' back |
| Aight |
| Cause I’m the king of Nike flights |
| I got more boxes stacked then a warehouse |
| Two pairs, one on ice |
| I won’t even wear out |
| Go head and talk greezy and you’ll find yourself Aired out |
| I box with the force that can knock grizzly bears out |
| Prepare for warfare, fuck fightin' fair ones |
| Feels like I shot you in the face with a flare gun |
| The heat when I speak and the temperature of my tongue |
| Will make you swear to god that I’m the emperor of the sun |
| A next level hustler that shouldn’t be slept upon |
| Fuck crack! |
| I sell Energon to Deceptions |
| Swamp H, have Megatron on methadone |
| Apathy is a god in the rap upper echelon |
| Assassination theme music, raps to die to |
| Cock back and blast before I pass to Ryu |
| I be that insane cracker from the D.G.Z.s |
| I need liquor and two packs of G.P.C.s |
| Now that’s sicker |
| Rats if you don’t like it then fuck you |
| My clans deep, steppin' out my jeep in my truck jewels |
| (Beep beep) |
| The killin' is a part of my job |
| Ayo RZA, good lookin' on that sixteen god |
| You gotta figure I’m the cream of the crop |
| The demon in Pac |
| I leave 'em butt naked, make 'em eat the beam of the Glock |
| You wanna see the M.P. |
| pop? |
| Give me a reason, guarantee that after beefin' with me they turn vegan |
| What the fuck you gonna do? |
| Come and see Ryu |
| I’m like a sniper |
| Sittin' on Machine Shop’s roof |
| S.O.B. |
| style |
| Demigodz hold me down |
| So keep my fuckin' name out your mouth |
| I leave the mics in body bags |
| With the same effect tsunami’s have |
| And uplift the rep that Gotti had |
| And I’m the reason why your seeds is probably mad |
| Cause they caught me squeezin' my thing up in they mommy’s ass |
| It’s Motive bitch |
| And yes I’m the bad man |
| I spit so sick, they say I need a cat scan |
| A Demigod assassin by cash fam |
| Kilo mode but still grind up bad grams |
| The Doe Raker that’s well known so tell home |
| I’m more to sea with my chrome more than cell phones |
| And I ain’t here to teach no kids, I’m just rhymin' |
| I have you son wildin' like them kids in Blood Diamond |
| Fuckin' with Mo clutchin' the heat, flippin' cane |
| I keep the streets full of snow like a blizzard came |
| Slammin' a hype as verse till your bones snap |
| I ransack dead in the track and domes crack |
| Rap assassin, blastin', y’all should fasten seat belts |
| You crab ass rappers I’m rebuilt |
| I’m hot |
| Top notch, man fuck the pot shots |
| We got a leg up on the competition like hopscotch |
| I’m nice |
| I’m sayin' it twice |
| I repeat like a pen |
| I breed another eight MCs approachin' me |
| I disrespect, slash your neck, cash your check |
| It’s how I bought my fat ass Lex |
| So clear the way |
| It’s Shay, dawg open the gate |
| Peace, I’m out |
| Jettin' like I’m dealin' out of state |
| You’re gettin' stripped for your spot of your game |
| You can’t stop me, you can only try to contain |
| I’m outta your range |
| That white widow got me thinkin' I’m on top a blade |
| No deal so I still keep stockin' the cane |
| I only recognize your girl from the top of her brain |
| She loves the taste so much she even swallows the stains |
| Don’t be surprised if you fuck her and she callin' my name |
| My flow is insane, I’m headed to the hall of the fame |
| I’m chargin' the game for all the long studio nights |
| Time is money I need back a billion tonight |
| Stay up in booths threatening rappers and killin' the mics |
| I love goin' overseas but I ain’t feelin' the flights |
| So I’m tryin' to get a private jet |
| Demigodz, we the livest set since hi-fi cassettes |
| Ain’t a damn thing change boy |
| +Protect Ya Neck+ |
| I’ll have machete swingin' at where you head connect |
| Motherfucker |
| «Keep my fuckin' name out your mouth» |
| Are you a warrior? |
| Killer? |
| Slicin' shit like a kamikaze ninja |
| Go where I’ve been and you’ll find bodies injured |
| Call the ambulance, the A.T.F., the Ghost Busters |
| This is fast food, your last meal is a slow supper |
| I’m Dan Aykroyd, Sigmund Freud |
| Bill Murray, that spit dirty at your derby make you act 'noid |
| You only half boy, half child |
| Boom, bang BLOAW! |
| Demigodz be like, «All in together now» |
| I get funky fresh |
| Watch me boil and flambe |
| Turn your favorite rapper to ham glaze |
| (Hey!) |
| Uncle Ben fucked Betty Crocker but it get’s worse |
| I fucked Mrs. Butterworth on a covered perch and kicked a gutter verse |
| For every hardcore connaisseur |
| Studio got mushroom stacks we got bombs galore |
| Celph Titled the grand daddy grenade man |
| Sellin' all my bottled up anger at lemonade stands |
| My clan is thick like plaster |
| Bust ya |
| Blast ya |
| Kill 'em in their tracks like a buff black gorilla |
| Styles pumped off of skrilla |
| Feel us |
| You’ll lose your? |
| cause they gave us a banger from Dilla |
| I came down with fat gats, then unload and lick a shot |
| I blow the backs of city cops like bloaw |
| Now it’s all over |
| Punks seein' pink hearts, eatin' schrooms through a straw with King Cobra |
| «Hood on the right, wild for the night» — GZA 'Clan In Da Front' |