Lyrics Thirsty Fish - Wisemen, Raekwon

Thirsty Fish

Yeah
Kevlaar on the beat
Yeah
Yo, I’ma let it soak in like some good soup on these niggas for a minute, man
Uh-Huh
You know what it is.
It’s Sparky Anderson in the building, baby.
(Gimme that one more time!)
Yeah
Let it float, like a white owl above your senses, man
(Blow out your senses with that while owl, baby!)
Aight
Yo, my soul’ll glisten
Jackie Joyner flow, driftin'
Mo' shit than a pigeon
Buddha make em' television
Blu-Ray precision
Blowin rods out ya engine
Not to mention
My enrichment make powder glow
Long arm pro
One novel split your avocado
Green cap, penny top rap
Cat-walk a model
Tyra Banks, Queen Sheba meet her — swallow liters
Crawl across burning desert, Mount St. Helen fever
Toast with a blunt, call me golden retriever
Green paper on tap like oxygen, two hydrogen pieces
This be my nitro glycerin thesis
Or it’s duct tape, white doves and death to the speaker
Find my luck late white gloves mix O.J.
with ether
See the dope game?
It’s the same, it’s or, or either
Now my waist got burns the size of 9 millimeter
I treat her how I treat her, Liter after liter
Smoke cedar after cedar, still breathalyze cleaner
Than a 12-Step leader
Bronzeman on the stand, never turn a Tina
Or parakeeter
Right hand on the heater, knowin' I barely teeter
'lute get it poppin like bottles
Fly chicks and models
El Dorados with the top tilt off
Far from soft
From Diggstown to a loft
Real brick nigga, workers lookin' up to the boss
Weight movers, ease thru scope-like view
Style rugby, no pads, run through ya crew
The shit I do, unexplainable
Liver than most
For the bread?
Meet his forehead with the toast
Full fledged, off the ledge
Live life on the edge
No comparisons, fuck what you see on the tube
They don’t play us on the radio, so fuck them too
Hardcore, reward point blank range
On that hurricane tip, fuck making it rain
Storm defiant, skinny nigga knockin' out giants
Killa season, presidential status to clients
Rise above tide, seat back enjoyin' the ride
We employers of the corners, it’s the cowards that hide
Hold my own weight, rocked out buck-65
Ask about me in my gritty city, 'lute get live!
Eyes low, cause I stay high
Far from average
Street Fighter, E. Honda concrete savage
It’s a wrap kid, ya’ll figures stuck in a drought
Known for X-ing niggas out, like my first name Malc'
What I’m about, nigga
Call me Prince Charles
My mother stay rocked up and glocked up
Rockin' a gun umbrella, size 8 Clarks
Love the game, sweet sneakers and speakers
Fly white beaches, pour shots
Mister, it’s all rocks
That’s me, new flamer
Double XL jag
Baby blue nozzles, xeon Nina
Shoot like the new and improved
Military regime rap
Magazines jump off clean racks
Wipe out the spouse, bag up
Welcome to The House of Flying Daggers, where niggas get grabbed up
Snatched like the actress, act up
The van with the old man drivin' wit' the hammer, that’s Black Putt
Slut niggas go up in ya bitch butt
Owe that money, we comin' at ya ass like, «Wassup?»
You gon' die, nigga you won’t lie
I figured I could help you
My homie, you wan' ride?