Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Incarcerated Scarfaces , by - Wu-Tang Clan. Release date: 11.03.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Incarcerated Scarfaces |
| He looks determined without being ruthless |
| Something heroic in his manner |
| There’s a courage about him, doesn’t look like a killer |
| Comes across so calm |
| Acts like he has a dream |
| Full of passion |
| You don’t trust me, huh? |
| Well, you know why |
| I do, we’re not supposed to trust anyone in our profession anyway |
| Knock niggas out the box all the time |
| Niggas know my motherfuckin' repertoire, big ones (Uh-huh) |
| (Yeah, motherfucker, straight up) |
| (I'll fuck your whole team up) Take care of B.I., Chef |
| (Yeah, bust it, yo, yo) Fly G.I. |
| niggas |
| Now, yo, yo, what up, yo? |
| Time is runnin' out |
| It’s for real, though, let’s connect, politic, ditto |
| We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases |
| Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces |
| Thug-related style attract millions, fans |
| They understand my plan, who’s the kid up in the green Land? |
| Me and the RZA connect, blow a fuse, you lose |
| Half-ass crews get demolished and bruised |
| Fake be fronting, hourglass-heads niggas be wanting |
| Shutting down your slot, time for pumping |
| Poisonous sting, which thumps up and act chumps |
| Rae’s a heavy generator, but yo, guess who’s the black Trump? |
| Dough be flowing by the hours, Wu, we got the collars |
| Scholars, word life, peace to Power and my whole unit |
| Word up, quick to set it, don’t wet it |
| Real niggas lick shots, peace Connecticut |
| Now, yo, yo, what up, yo? |
| Time is runnin' out |
| It’s for real, though, let’s connect, politic, ditto |
| We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases |
| Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces |
| Chef’ll shine like marble, rhyme remarkable |
| Real niggas raise up, spend your money, argue |
| But this time is for the uninvited |
| Go 'head and rhyme to it, bitch nigga, mics is getting fired |
| More fiends, chicks be burning like chlorine |
| Niggas recognize from here to Baltimore to Fort Greene |
| But hold up, Moët be tasting like throw-up |
| My mob roll up, dripped to death, whips rolled up |
| You never had no wins, sliding in these dens |
| With Timbs, with MAC-10's and broke friends |
| You got guns? |
| Got guns too, what up, son? |
| Do you wanna battle for cash and see who sons who? |
| I’ll probably wax tracks, smack rap niggas, you, facts |
| Niggas' lyrics are wack, nigga |
| Can’t stand unofficial, wet tissue, blank busting Scud missiles |
| You rolling like Trump, you get your meat lumped |
| For real, it’s just slang rap democracy |
| Here’s the policy, slide off the ring, plus the Wallabees |
| Check the status, soon to see me at, Caesar’s Palace eating salads |
| We beating mics sending keys to Dallas |
| I move rhymes like retail, make sure shit sell |
| From where we at to my man’s cell |
| From staircase to stage, minimum wage |
| But soon to get a article in Rap Page |
| But all I need is my house, my gat, my Ac' |
| Bank account fat, it’s going down like that |
| And pardon the French, but let me speak Italian |
| Black stallions wildling on Shaolin |
| That means the island of Staten |
| And niggas carry gats and mad police from Manhattan |
| Now, yo, yo, what up, yo? |
| Time is runnin' out |
| It’s for real though, let’s connect, politic, ditto |
| We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases |
| Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces |
| I do this for barber shop niggas in the Plaza |
| Catching asthma, Rae is sticking gun-flashers |
| Well-dressed, skating through the projects with big ones |
| Broke elevators, turn the lights out, stick one upstairs |
| Switch like a chameleon, hit Brazilians |
| Pass the cash or leave your children, leave the building |
| Niggas, yo, they be folding like envelopes |
| Under pressure, like Lou Ferrigno on coke |
| Yo, Africans denying niggas up in yellow cabs |
| Musty like fuck, waving they arms to Arabs |
| Sit back, cooling like Kahlúas on rocks |
| On the crack spots, rubber band wrap all my knots |
| View bitches who fuck dreads on Sudafeds |
| Pussy’s hurting, they did it for a yard for the feds |
| Word up, cousin, nigga, I seen it |
| Like a 27-inch Zenith, believe it |
| Now, yo, yo, what up, yo? |
| Time is runnin' out |
| It’s for real, though, let’s connect, politic, ditto |
| We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases |
| Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces |
| Yo, yo, what up, yo? |
| Time is runnin' out |
| It’s for real, though, let’s connect, politic, ditto |
| Get lifted in the staircases |
| Peace, incarcerated scarfaces |
| Time is runnin' out |
| Politic, ditto |
| Incarcerated scarfaces |