| You’ve practiced 20 years? |
| You must be extremely good then
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| Perhaps, you’ll try with me
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| Come and taste my seasonin', Chef, the cooking that is marvelous
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| Back over a stove, makin' your mouth water, you starve for this
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| Exclusive sneakers with hard denim, heavyweight
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| A neighbor illustrated Alex Haley with paper (paper)
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| Waves spinnin' like the Titanic, come take a float on
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| Silky like King Henry VIII’s robe in late spring
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| Restaurants with skeleton keys, it’s big business
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| Well groomed and elegant posture is real dapper
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| Status is gigantic, coats is alpaca
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| Meetings in the Vatican, drinkin' scotch with the Muscle Milk
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| Praises go to Ason, the dynasty Mr. Russell built
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| Feed me royal shottas with Glocks, clean 'em with GT Oil
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| China dolls from Bangkok, we bang 'em, train 'em and make 'em loyal
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| Trees stank, she come kiss the top of my Yves Saint
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| Wise-Universal Tang when I bang
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| Grizzly with the big bank, it’s 5 stars, y’all, when I call rank
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| Egos are somethin' that the Wu-Tang crush
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| These stupid jealous niggas, y’all 'bout to get rust
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| This ashes to ashes to dust to dust
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| These derelict MC’s cannot fuck with us, Lord
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| Egos are somethin' that the Wu-Tang crush
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| These stupid jealous niggas, y’all 'bout to get rust
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| This ashes to ashes to dust to dust
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| These derelict MC’s cannot fuck with us, Lord
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| Rifles out, bear like the Russian
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| Octagon tuggin' silk drawers frontin', while her head stuntin'
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| Mulsannes flood the garage
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| Man the goats launchin' charge cards from Africa
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| Catch me in the hookah lodge
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| Brains linked, twisted Cohibas, say the seeds bang
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| Coffee pots with graveyard rings, flippin' Gs
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| Yankee hoodlum on the top of the charts
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| Dart throwers, they’re sharks
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| Everybody run
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| When my gun barks
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| Non-athletic anti-semetic synthetic rappers get no credit
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| Pathetic septic lines, incompetent styles not embedded
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| Wu-Tang slang bangs in your brain, this is not genetic, prophetic
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| Unadulterated talent while y’all talk that bullshit rhetoric
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| Egos are somethin' that the Wu-Tang crush
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| These stupid jealous niggas, y’all 'bout to get rust
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| This ashes to ashes to dust to dust
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| These derelict MC’s cannot fuck with us, Lord
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| Where is the money? |
| Ha ha… |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Crushed Egos , by - Wu-Tang Clan. Song from the album A Better Tomorrow, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп