Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wu Tang: 7th Chamber, artist - Wu-Tang Clan. Album song Live At Montreux 2007, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 21.09.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Montreux Sounds
Song language: English
Wu Tang: 7th Chamber |
Take that motherfucker |
GOOD MORNING VIETNAM! |
Yeah, good morning to all you motherfuckin notty-headed niggaz |
Word to the camoflouge large niggaz |
Bitch niggaz fuckin my body |
Bring that fuckin meth in here |
Yo yo yo yo Now we gonna drink some good Nightrain |
and yo, set it off |
Verse One: Raekwon the Chef |
Champion gear that I rock, you get your boots knocked |
Then attack you like a pit that lock shit DOWN |
As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore |
but giving you more and more, like ding! |
Nah shorty, get you open like six packs |
Killer Bees attack, flippin what, murder one, phat tracks |
A’ight? |
I kick it like a Night Flite! |
Word life, I get that ass while I’m fulla spite! |
Check the method from Bedrock, cause I rock ya head to bed |
Just like rockin what? |
Twin glocks! |
Shake the ground while my beats just break you down |
Raw sound, we going to war right now |
So, yo, bombin |
We Usually Take All Niggaz Garments |
Save ya breath before I bomb it Verse Two: Method Man |
I be that insane nigga from the psycho ward |
I’m on the trigger, plus I got the Wu-Tang sword |
So how you figure that you can even fuck with mine? |
Hey, yo, RZA! |
Hit me with that shit one time! |
And pull a foul, niggaz save the beef on the cow |
I’m milkin this ho, this is MY show, tical |
The FUCK you wanna do? |
More than Spike Lee’s Do |
I’m like a sniper, hyper off the ginseng root |
PLO style, buddha monks with the owls |
So who’s the fucking man? |
Meth-Tical |
On the chessbox |
Verse Three: Inspector Deck |
Yo, yeah, yo I leave the mic in body bags, my rap style has |
The force to leave you lost, like the tribe of Shabazz |
Murderous material, made by a madman |
It’s the mic wrecker, Inspector, bad man |
From the bad lands of the killer, rap fanatic |
Representing with the skill that’s iller |
Dare to compare, get pierced just like an ear |
The zoo-we-do-wop-bop strictly hardware |
Armed and geared cause I just broke out the prison |
Charged by the system — for murdering the rhythm! |
Now, lo and behold, another deadly episode |
Bound to catch another fuckin charge when I explode |
Verse Four: Ghostface Killer |
Slammin a hype-ass verse til ya head burst |
I ramshack dead in the track, and that’s that |
Rap assassin, fastin, quick to blast and hardrock |
I ran up in spots like Fort Knox! |
I’m hot, top notch, Ghost thinks with logic |
Flashback’s how I attacked your whole project |
I’m raw, I’m rugged and raw! |
I repeat, if I die |
My seed’ll be ill like me Approachin me, you out of respect, chops ya neck |
I get vexed, like crashing up a phat-ass Lex' |
So clear the way, make way, yo! |
Open the cage |
Peace, I’m out, jettin like a runaway slave |
Verse Five: Prince Rakeem/RZA |
Yo Ya gettin stripped from ya garments, boy, run ya jewels |
While the meth got me open like falopian tubes |
I bring death to a snake when he least expect |
Ain’t a damn thing changed, boy, Protect Ya Neck |
Ruler Zig Zag, Zig-Allah jam is fatal |
Quick to stick my Wu-Tang sword right through ya navel |
Suspenseful, plus bein bought through my utensil |
The pencil, I break strong winds up against your |
Abbot, that run up through your county like the Maverick |
Caps through the tablets, I gots to make the fabrics |
Verse Six: Ol Dirty Bastard |
Are you, uh, ah, uh Are you a warrior? |
Killer? |
Slicin shit like a samurah |
The Ol’Dirty Bastard VUNDABAH |
Ol’Dirty clan of terrorists |
Comin atcha ass like a sorceress, shootin’that PISS! |
Niggaz be gettin on my fuckin nerves |
Rhymes they be kickin make me wanna kick they fuckin ass to the curb |
I got funky fresh, like the old specialist |
A carrier, messenger, bury ya This experience is for the whole experience |
Let it be applied, and THEN DROP THAT SCIENCE |
Verse Seven: Genius/GZA |
My my my |
My Clan is thick like plaster |
Bust ya, slash ya Slit a nigga back like a Dutch Master Killer |
Style jumped off and Killa, Hill-er |
I was the thriller in the Ali-Frazier Manilla |
I came down with phat tracks that combine and interlock |
Like getting smashed by a cinder block |
Blaow! |
Now it’s all over |
Niggaz seeing pink hearts, yellow moons |
orange stars and green clovers |