Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song On That Sht Again , by - Wu-Tang Clan. Release date: 16.05.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
On That Sht Again |
| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous |
| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous |
| Yo, yo |
| Champagne nights on the corner mad heavy |
| Around the time when I was beefing with Wizzy |
| Starks, State, and Claybourne drawers |
| Dickin' bitches down, they man come through |
| Damn near kissed the ground |
| Jumping out of big shit with Benetton pajamas on |
| Line my soldiers up, strategize, then I move my pawns |
| Should’ve been Italian how I’m getting that parmesan |
| Talkin' bout the ones you keep putting those commas on |
| And I’ma keep hope alive |
| 'Cause mad lil' niggas look up to me outside |
| Breaking dawn blunted, yums in they mouth |
| I drop a jewel, they see the C-ciphers then bounce |
| Peace God, you see Rae, yo, tell 'em I said |
| I was in the East, a nigga died, but cut off his dreads |
| I’ll be back around 6PM |
| Juma prayers around 1 o’clock |
| Plus I gotta pick up these gems |
| 'Cause it’s going down tonight at the Garden |
| Mary and Maxwell, Drew Hill, I’m supposed to be starring |
| You know how I do, son |
| Nugget stones with the blue ones |
| And coming with me is a few guns |
| I think he’s on that shit again |
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em |
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in |
| Bet against me? |
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in |
| I think he’s on that shit again |
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em |
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in |
| Bet against me? |
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in |
| Telekinesis, simple instrumental thesis |
| I could hop on a track, relax, then remain speechless |
| Peep this, I closed down the Kith store for thousand dollar sneakers |
| Bought a dozen pair with 'em, shared 'em with his cousin |
| Wu-Tang slang boomerang back like Reggie Hudlin |
| From New York City to Philly to Los Angeles |
| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous |
| You can’t outthink the RZA, nigga, I’ll make your brain shrink |
| My lyrics are vitamins, I go from A to zinc |
| And yeah, I got that iron just in case the emcee think |
| He can take it to the streets, then watch his ass become extinct |
| Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex |
| I turn your fuckin' face to Jonah Hex |
| Ayy, yo, last night my sugar was five hundred |
| That Log Cabin syrup on them flapjacks took it to sky hundred |
| That’s thirteen units of insulin |
| Brought it back down now everything is official in like Michelin |
| Counting bread like Maserati Rick out in Michigan |
| And all my old girlfriends is jumping on my dick again |
| I think he’s on that shit again |
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em |
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in |
| Bet against me? |
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in |
| I think he’s on that shit again |
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em |
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in |
| Bet against me? |
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in |