Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ghetto Syringe, artist - Wu-Syndicate. Date of issue: 19.04.1999
Song language: English
Ghetto Syringe |
| Chaos struck nation-wide today as four suspects, including the |
| Members of the rap group Wu-Syndicate and another suspect, 12 O’Clock |
| Alledgedly have infiltrated and taken over the industry |
| We’ll keep you updated as more news becomes available |
| I pull heist like the Colombo’s, mob price, traffic is closed |
| The Heiroglyphics, son, watch the money power |
| When I was 19 wrote the wheel, cherished the poker life |
| 25 man’s rack, kidnappin his thug wife |
| Glamorous, en-vi-vivangelist, fuck his fanatics |
| Just from Los Angeles, blowin like Alanis |
| Napoleon, vision of Malibu golden sands |
| Roll with J in a bubble outlet, you know the clan |
| Schemed out my mind |
| Ghetto syringes tooken with spy ninjas |
| Mafia with swiftness, conductin the sheist business |
| Probably win, minor gotti click, abduction |
| My peeps, extortion flame, the holo-tips corruptin this metropolis |
| It drain slow, over karets, see a vain hoe, maintain, oh |
| Ya flame thrower, UFO, niggas is jakin at hoes |
| Playin the same tunes for Picollo’s |
| A shy house, slangin Micollo’s |
| Duckin the snot mineral |
| I put the hoe at risk, I make 'em carry my grip |
| In the whip with the extra clips |
| She could stick it up her pussy |
| Don’t get scared, I’m real deep |
| They just put up the doofy |
| I think the po’s 'bout to poo me |
| And if they do, you better say we goin' to the movie |
| If they ask my name, it be Benetton McClain |
| If shit gets serious, bitches soakin in fame |
| Now I change the name 12 O’Clock off into a white cop |
| Bitch cursin a lot, stop |
| This shit is creatin more situations |
| She gon' take it, 5 years probation |
| Sittin at home waitin |
| For me to come home, lacin me up, boot |
| Yo, chill 12 O’Clock, the feds rushed my man spot |
| Pictures of the proda-blue land down in Suzanne’s shop |
| Questionin this cat I knew named Dredd Scott |
| Polly yo cousin stashed half of a man inside his dread snot |
| Just before he made it back to Bedrock |
| He had testified against this cat from up to pushin a Benz drop |
| Trafficin coke back in a bread box, then I heard it wasn’t coke |
| Shit was terron, raw eggs, stop |
| Should of clapped his ass, I seen a flash cop |
| Swarmin in the parkin lot, projects hot |
| Tropic is scorchin rock, hrad to try to cop a knot |
| Informer type faggots they snitch |
| Bitches, they talk a lot, stab 'em with dick |
| Beady overdosed, clockin syran, too many minerals |
| Pockets stay mad with no ears, this shit is petifull |
| Cheddar bring the jealousy, burners blaze over some beef |
| Dead in my industry, I can’t lie |
| My head is defeat, pussy ain’t nothin sweet |
| All my niggas are locked in the beast |
| Who used to run with me, Daddy-O |
| Daddy you home, you livin comfortably |
| Respect due, but never is paid |
| Bitch comfort me, heroin, crack |
| Pagin each other, jump on a jack for fee |
| Hundred dollars, sell it, we took |
| Another way to eat, I can’t lie |
| Shit that I write is like a legacy |
| …a legacy |