Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Muzzle Toe , by - Wu-Syndicate. Release date: 19.04.1999
Song language: English
Muzzle Toe |
| Keep your plans on the low |
| Just another chamber, the swarm |
| Roll dark and deep, Bobby Digital |
| Wu-Syndicate, Wu-syndicate |
| Be Born, Daddy-O, what up Math? |
| Mickey Mirrors, true blessings |
| For what, X Era |
| Takin it to the clear this year |
| Faggots nervous but it’s time to dance with night strangers |
| Top rap don, cuz Daddy-O got me the dice game |
| It’s reg or not, pockets love Trump Donald |
| Pack your work, move your plans to VA |
| Heat on the lock collar |
| Bite your fingerprints, make the cops nog you |
| 98, wait, service applead, rated top dollar |
| Escape jake fakin plot alot hotter |
| Fake snakes smilin right in your face |
| Play this a lot smarter |
| Low avalanche, wobblely stance, ask for rain dance |
| We the same cats blazing your lab |
| Wu-Capone with a love jones, watch me son |
| Global with the local cats that’s known trifted in the hell zone |
| Politic, modern Gotti click |
| Just a matter of time before till Wu-Syndicate lock shit |
| How you stoppin, mega popular, modern mobster |
| Joe Mafia, Jay got me in bicolulars |
| Yo snatch run, shoot out, chicken nights how’s nice |
| Rule out, silk low valley, Mafia crew house |
| Drink vine, moon shine wine, sip it, fool out |
| Rollin wit a burner no doubt, shorty school out |
| First of all, for the record, Scarface jail cats |
| Cultured by stretch it but name it, rather socialize |
| Eyes never lies, these guys tell me throwing forty Cali’s stainless |
| Cuz these empty slugs spit pain, killer |
| Wylin on parole, so been on his rock |
| And Donny race spot it’s way hot |
| Son of a spray lock |
| Them mistress said it grazed his neck |
| Collapsing over bar rooms, holding his wounds |
| Yo what the fuck can it take? |
| Brokin glass fallin all on my head |
| Head ringin like Cyrus from bitches screamin |
| Blood on my leg |
| Let me catch my breath Glock appraise me |
| Feds chase me, toared my jabogs as I hopped the fence |
| Blood on my tongue taste it, son I was big off Remi |
| Even run to me, shorty run up in my spot, don’t let |
| The clown kill me |
| High beam helicopter light flash through the blind |
| Cousin what a cat gon do, drippin a man’s eye |
| Call down ya kids, smack the screamin bitch |
| Yo relax Myalansky, word it’s that teeny snitch |
| What’s the purpose, allerkin this search, street merchandist |
| Supeen service, here’s dirt to cause the turbulence |
| With lip service, scape jay, down rob handcuff plant to his hand |
| The purchase of the yae yo, take a make though, it’s blood money |
| Keep my hands muddy, rakin a lake ice with low money |
| Without a clue of what I wen’t through |
| Plus been through, stressing the issue |
| Shell shocked, hidin the pistol |
| The next chapter from the Brooklyn Criminology |
| Should of bought my life in the business, catchin ?? |
| We felony, keep tellin these cats get Bills like Bellamy |
| Empires get hit for their chips, you just follow me |
| Gravity, Myalansky, nigga fancy |
| How real this could get when you’re broke |
| Platinum down please, my fam scheme, fuck the po-po |
| Sayin 'do, Daddy-O, Joe Mafia, T-Bone |
| Make Corleone rush like Phat Farm |
| Strong armin withmax chrome |
| Cats know runnin the spot, claimin they clap though |
| Kidnap though, thrown to the hostage, I know this cat knew |
| Snap though, leavin them duct taped, glory was cancelled |
| It’s pinzo, eleven o channel cut off his leg slow |
| He begged though, continued to throw it without info |
| Waterd down niggas be frontin, obviously bitch missed since 6 grade |
| Plottin on niggas, shinin their rich ways |
| Get switch bladed, bodies found decomposed, throwed in the ditch grave |
| Moms can’t identify shit, was there for six weeks |
| With blood money, frontin out stick’s peed |
| Quick way, fuck all the talkin this what my click say |
| Them bitch ate, sweeter than sugar pussy your dick faced |
| I answer this, many late nights, puffin on cancer sticks |
| On hell with this shit, sometimes I feel but I’m trapped in it |
| The x to the, amongst the projects with bang shooters |
| Hard rocks, skippin school to get their brains buddha’d |
| Lame chicks, filthy ass fiends to want the same vicks |
| Stick up cats, robbin for name kicks |
| Game flicks with low fooda |
| I’m forced to blast on these street soldiers with cold shoulders |
| It’s hard god metafogics |
| Rumbled in the concrete jungle to stay humble |
| Make my brain tumble, rainin cocaine and rain bubbles |
| Fucking jiggy, we doin it low |
| Stay pissy, sippin g, straight henny gettin bussy with Wu-Synny |
| In the small city, either walk straight, chop weight |
| Heads talkin to much, sending my niggas upstate |
| Ill fate, S U double F o to get shot alive what the F O |
| F o, f o, nigga |