Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Global Politics, artist - Wu-Syndicate. Date of issue: 19.04.1999
Song language: English
Global Politics |
| Global thug politics, every man in his argument |
| We form as one, who can abolish it? |
| Projects the heart of this |
| Catch heat, but 4 novelists |
| The pain is deep, try and swallow this |
| Niggas know my steez, I jet to D. C |
| Chromed-down M3, nigga that play B.E.T |
| Joe Clair, why these faggot-ass niggas stare? |
| Don’t they know my man carry big bear and don’t care? |
| They say he hold a nigga fruit like pear |
| Pussy, come here, let me whisper in your ear |
| I make your clit disappear |
| I play the wizard, bring blizzard |
| 4−4 heavy when I left it, Puffy shit I dis it |
| For them locks, I bring Vietnam shots |
| If you dare beatbox down my block |
| Pussy-ass niggas gotta hire cops |
| Remember one thing, Wu niggas don’t stop |
| It’s like sortin out down a fresh bundle |
| Drain my pain on your brain muscle |
| The custle, 2 cats to die hustlin |
| Fiend creamin men, lavish establishment |
| Ghetto Politics, Syndicate benifit, die filithy rich |
| Kille the benidict, chicks get the rented dick |
| Tossin heads off, the venomous sunnin the latest |
| My whole team roll to blow steam |
| Put you in a smash, nickel gleam |
| Tied to your ass, roll out the welcome mat |
| The red carpet war onslaught, you the target |
| I’m black market when the NARC’s hiss, spittin the sharp shit |
| Mafi-ay, V.A., Playstation, R.C.A |
| Sippin on cabosi-ay, who could take a lose a day? |
| Jizzed them heads, I shitted, my style shifted |
| Them out-of-town niggas tried to quiz it, cockin the biscuit |
| Shattered thugs is ice mugs, the tied to nose |
| Long-dickin in and out of hoes without the specticles |
| Cut you at the side of your face, keep my dart bent |
| Benz wagon limo tint, play me, my flick |
| Marlon Brando, Lucky Lou-ando gamble with large chips |
| Project scandles I handle, still on some calm shit |
| Darts spit, Mr. Corleone’s orders for cross water |
| Myalansky, As astatsian type, pearl torture |
| Street cat burn your empire, your sin of course sourcer |
| Arm-leg-head, duct tape, now torcher |
| Vet kid responsible, word is his mouth leaked |
| Claimin peace, cousin he lyin, hit him on south street |
| Hit him once we dead him, forget him, losin no sleep |
| Chain brand, bottle of perfume found in the back seat |
| Little Mickey start from right hand, J. Jeep |
| Teflon, King of New York, stupid you mad meef |
| Wu cat, Syndicate rap, raisin my babies |
| Global thug politics, black, Raigan was crazy |
| We rob ambulances, mid-seller like Mid Los Angeles |
| Thoughts is spannin like boleta and co-plots of bandits |
| Natural advantage, you take life for granted |
| Livin savage, even moose know how it is to manage |
| Wicked as nimrod, flower bands with black hands |
| Run with cats who cop Porsches, flee from their fans |
| Blowin collosal, ghetto apostles, some die with coke in their nostrils |
| And burnin fossils, on death beds in cold hospitals |
| It’s logical, don’t think it’s impossible |
| Rip tracks with Rae' and Ghost possible |
| Blessed with insisted stroll insite |
| To attract Godesses with tropics rays of sunlight |
| Get to right, nigga, snakes slither |
| In the form of the Amazon River |
| Kidnappin parrots, if they snitch, I deliver |
| Their tongue, bandits stress to where the seed dress |
| Who confess, I possess the men-tal of an Aztec |
| Get your ass wettened while you peep this |
| Mystery God is what the 10% preaches, broke niggas be leeches |
| When feds come, they never speechless |
| Wu-Syndicate left the whole state in secret |