Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pointin' Fingers, artist - Wu-Syndicate. Date of issue: 19.04.1999
Song language: English
Pointin' Fingers |
| My mic sabre track-slashin', rhythmatic navigator |
| Quasar dart flamin', Mediterranian |
| Catastrophic with the block logic mafia cat |
| Maneuv' swift, O.G. |
| got some projects |
| Got the raw deal on the war field |
| Sixty trillion ton guns on timin' of your shield |
| We on it like angry hornet-types on your perimeter |
| Sinister, car crash impact invehicular |
| Crime Syndicate just aserted this raw dosage |
| Blow your mind focus, mastermind links in 3 voltage |
| Love is love amongst us, you cause pass |
| Receive penalties unjust is how my team rush |
| Magnetic attracts stacks, repels cosmetic |
| Cats would jack shorty watch, mimic |
| Anacondas die spottin' bombers that’s sky high |
| Fully traumatized, wonderin' why, why |
| Fake rap thugs, gun slingers, no need for names |
| We don’t point fingers, title you claim |
| Go here, start swingin', leave, die stingin' |
| Stop the mirage, get scarred dreamin' |
| Now that he gone, driven his mom screamin' |
| Just a seven from this rap doses, cats is bogus |
| Keep your eyes open, shakin' the dice, stay alive, focus |
| Myalansky cold as ice, don’t lose your life |
| City red, sheist, bubble all night, lower the price |
| I improved, dock and move units, fiends who shooted |
| Younger cats tooted, faggot you blew it |
| Give me the gat, do him |
| Dime art rap, perhaps lungs collapse, let me back track |
| Slapped for talkin', snitchin', get clapped at |
| Projects, actual facts, slingin' some crack |
| We’ll come back, pure garbage, yo, you dumb, black? |
| Blow his fuckin' head off Joe, call Napoleon |
| The only man, Wu-Syndicate, what? |
| Rollin' in |
| Bring me modern chokes to the cocktail Colombian, hungry men |
| Sniper from your rooftop, right, aimin' for Uncle Ben |
| Feathers and brims, leathers and Timbs |
| Jean Paul Gaulthier wear, bitches let it begin |
| Saint Valentino, 'bino, ghetto Tarentino |
| Conceal weapons, brought adolecence, insert to your project fabuloso |
| Holdin' a stolen tre-ocho, maneuver thru old foes |
| Who old? |
| Fold the bitch in choke hold |
| Propositions, fuck ass kickin', it’s Math', listen |
| Mad figures, courted, extorted, auto craft, switch it |
| Get it right, shifty and shiest, city insite |
| I’m busy trife, hiddin' flights, premeditated heist |
| More fiend fiend lusted CREAM, busted the precusions |
| My ears ring, never seen, before cats were lovin' 'steen |
| Mother tote, it ain’t what you got, it’s what you know |
| Supreme schemes, trustin' hoes, safe but large cargos |
| Get remmy bent, probably my posse be holdin' heavy shit |
| Syndicate, benevolent flinch, who blocks split the sound of trumpets |
| Inside the mercury, temperature thirty degrees |
| D.A. |
| and the V.A., the worensy, dunn |
| Lame hands, front the trophy, he don’t deserve that |
| Herb frontin' hard with the gat, screamin' he splurged that |
| Most of these cats frontin', look gorilla poke tax |
| Runnin', look, tote, spit all up on wax |
| Myalansky, projects, original concept, take the wrong step |
| Caught in the zone for those who life froze |
| From Poke-nose to Venice Beach, locked up in the street |
| Hit rock, damn, I feel good, lay back, feel the breeze |
| Slide like jet-ski's, flee, smokin' some nestles |
| Strees-free, test these three, Napoleon, Joe Mafia, my comrades |
| Saigon, 'nam without the dome tag, have you whole block in inferno |
| But for the most of it, me unposted |
| Careful your throws, Syndicate never fold |
| Sunshine, rhyme or crime, my team lock the show |
| Frontline, deaf, dumb and blind, uncivilized |
| Recognize, yo, fake rap thugs |