Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Windpipe , by - Wu-Tang Clan. Release date: 02.11.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Windpipe |
| Yo Yo Yo doodododododo Yo pssh yo |
| Yo park the Jeep on the street of the Sunset Marquis |
| Autograph sign and pass wit a gold tip Sharpie |
| Permanent ink blots, I’m drunk on Red Label scotch |
| While you faggots try to judge my shit like Ed Koch |
| Underground left and right pan surround sound can’t re-scan |
| Be the hands, video tape, Steadicam |
| Golden chrome, desert eagle never left at home |
| To the track or the beat, watch Bobby flip the metronome |
| High voltage, keep my seed and Wiz well-cultured |
| Kill enemies by mailing them the poison through postage |
| I open and fold ya, Dirty fucked a ogre |
| I’ll leave the cats that book of food stamps, they make cold cuts |
| Then buy some Equal, a fifty-sack of that lethal |
| Adjust these boots and bloody cube steaks from Key Food |
| What party can you go to |
| And I ain’t there you bitches actin like you don’t care |
| You bitches actin' like you don’t care |
| You bitches actin' like you, YO |
| Razor blade toenails cut holes inside tube socks |
| Gold n' platinum fangs unstainable, I chew rocks |
| Cybertech digital suit, deflect bullets |
| Black hooded, surrounded by forty acres of wooded |
| Land, like my cousin dusty dirty ass Dan |
| Fucked the daughter of the leader of the Ku Klux Klan |
| Tapes we dub, pound you wit the ace of club |
| Clobber your tree to a shrub |
| Tongue kiss a lion then kidnap her cub |
| Passionate portrait, my bitch spread eagle, wild orchid |
| Pussy so wet you could fuck it wit' a soft tipped dick |
| Tickled her tonsil, you could hear her coughin' |
| I don’t know if Dirt fucked Mariah, but I’m out to fuck Tyra |
| Starks might fuck Mya |
| I’m the pussy vampire |
| I don’t wanna work no more |
| I want my own island |
| Yo I’m bent out three days two nights yo I’m spent out |
| One hell of a cruise New York got they hand out |
| Like I owe somethin, check they stance they frontin |
| I’m two seconds from twistin y’all shit over nuttin |
| All a sudden ice grills kid you did a baby bid |
| In the mix, almost hung yourself, slit ya wrists |
| To the maximum, hand me the forty I’ll thrash 'em |
| Split out, guess who gassed 'em, made Ghost throw his mask on |
| Trauma the block pro, bar sledge slang ho |
| Runnin from two assaults, in rap and I might blow |
| World Cup, some been blessed wit the Stanley |
| Ivan Lendl lend you autographed racket wit the hankey |
| Sideline manuever, polished wack MC remover |
| Niggas wit long nails cuttin me, leavin bruises |
| Cantelopes, tied a thousand on y’all folks |
| Came home, this dusthead dude tryin to play me close |
| Sweepin, peep fears, Liz wants to chop in this kid |
| I might do magic make him disappear |
| Railroad that nigga, Isotola Coca-Cola holder |
| Snap the granola, sprinkle ginko bola |
| Venom from a cobra, laced in the cummy ball odor |
| Soaked through a strainer, here’s a dose of |
| The King James version, displayed just like Samsung |
| Wit effects that’ll kill Rogers 007 |
| Hanna Barbera, heart’s the opposite of Bambi the deer |
| Fuck wit mics like Sonny and Cher |
| Or maybe the Captain & Tennille, immaculate golden seal |
| Nice like Mr. Whittendale your girl Chippendale |
| Shallah Price all up in ya dogged-out trench |
| When I snatched that, shit was broke shoulda sent ya ass back |
| And where’s the key to the hatchback, pop that |
| Get in throw a bag full of mic’s in there, respect that |
| What party can you go to, and Wu ain’t there |
| These niggas actin like they don’t care |
| What party can you go to, and Wu ain’t there |
| These hoes actin like they don’t care |