It's That Wu Shit
Ghostface Killah
Yo, most of the time, yo, I'm flicked up
Stepping out the crib like I'm sixed up, don't get it mixed up
Even if I'm shaking your hand, I'm still gripped up
With two spots left, yeah, we still bricked up
Trees pine, gleem no seed, young boys feeling they self, they must be on E's
Me? I stay outted out, boating on oceans
He banging my old chick, and he mad open
Think I smell the goons, they been business since the Tunnel days
Shanks out, they ready to move
Somebody yelled out 'ballin'
In two seconds, lord, they was up on 'em
That voice, should of slowed down, baby
Now what we gon' tell his lady
Jaw on the floor, looking all crazy
Alot of vicks been going down in here, lately
In 2012, the DJ is still recognized as the crowd controller
The record breaking, keep the bottles popping and all the ass shaking
It's that Wu shit, it's that movement
It's the Wu shit, in the house
Yo, should I talk about all the jewels I wore on my neck
While you had to tuck your little shit in out of respect
I'm a done, rebel out of Staten Island projects
I dare ya'll to come in my projects
Leave with no head, no neck
You thought I was Flex, the way I bombed the set
In the hallway, banger house, smelling like cake
Tongueing bitches down, most of them got scraped
Watch how I move the crowd, I'm a make 'em, make 'em clap to this
No shit, no doubt
Two shots of Hennessey, ladies want Goose
Earlier them fronting niggas, now they want a truce
Mami got a bubble in her Jimmy Choo shoe
When I go and kick it, she's a goodie two-shoe
Yeah, right, daddy got bread
Like J. Holiday, I wanna put you to bed
Tell me your girlfriends, kicks, don't let it go to your head
Walking around in your cheap ass threads
Get away from me, stinky
It's that Wu shit, it's that movement
It's the Wu shit, in the house
Yeah, yo, I spit lines from the rubble room
Bottom line, I kick mines, like a mother's womb
I'm, still in my prime, fuck them other dudes
No biting's the rule, but we can eat each other's food
Flash a camera at the all time great
Single handing increase New York's crime rate
That's why I love it in the Empire State
The city where your fat ass can still find weight
But ya'll ain't getting it, the game is different
And in the recession, alot of veterans is quitting it
Every day I'm living it, your boy got blunts
Fighting after school, alot of ya'll got jumped
Staten Island, bro, ratchet under my coat, potato salads so
And we silencing that, just every day challenge us
Check a nigga out of respect, I'm spectacular, this the Massacre
compositores: MARC SHEMER, DALE FRASHUER, CLIFFORD SMITH, PAUL LEKA, DENNIS COLES, GARY DECARLO, CARLOS JIMINEZ, LAWRENCE MACK, REGGIE HOBODY
Você é fã de Ghostface Killah? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
Stepping out the crib like I'm sixed up, don't get it mixed up
Even if I'm shaking your hand, I'm still gripped up
With two spots left, yeah, we still bricked up
Trees pine, gleem no seed, young boys feeling they self, they must be on E's
Me? I stay outted out, boating on oceans
He banging my old chick, and he mad open
Think I smell the goons, they been business since the Tunnel days
Shanks out, they ready to move
Somebody yelled out 'ballin'
In two seconds, lord, they was up on 'em
That voice, should of slowed down, baby
Now what we gon' tell his lady
Jaw on the floor, looking all crazy
Alot of vicks been going down in here, lately
In 2012, the DJ is still recognized as the crowd controller
The record breaking, keep the bottles popping and all the ass shaking
It's that Wu shit, it's that movement
It's the Wu shit, in the house
Yo, should I talk about all the jewels I wore on my neck
While you had to tuck your little shit in out of respect
I'm a done, rebel out of Staten Island projects
I dare ya'll to come in my projects
Leave with no head, no neck
You thought I was Flex, the way I bombed the set
In the hallway, banger house, smelling like cake
Tongueing bitches down, most of them got scraped
Watch how I move the crowd, I'm a make 'em, make 'em clap to this
No shit, no doubt
Two shots of Hennessey, ladies want Goose
Earlier them fronting niggas, now they want a truce
Mami got a bubble in her Jimmy Choo shoe
When I go and kick it, she's a goodie two-shoe
Yeah, right, daddy got bread
Like J. Holiday, I wanna put you to bed
Tell me your girlfriends, kicks, don't let it go to your head
Walking around in your cheap ass threads
Get away from me, stinky
It's that Wu shit, it's that movement
It's the Wu shit, in the house
Yeah, yo, I spit lines from the rubble room
Bottom line, I kick mines, like a mother's womb
I'm, still in my prime, fuck them other dudes
No biting's the rule, but we can eat each other's food
Flash a camera at the all time great
Single handing increase New York's crime rate
That's why I love it in the Empire State
The city where your fat ass can still find weight
But ya'll ain't getting it, the game is different
And in the recession, alot of veterans is quitting it
Every day I'm living it, your boy got blunts
Fighting after school, alot of ya'll got jumped
Staten Island, bro, ratchet under my coat, potato salads so
And we silencing that, just every day challenge us
Check a nigga out of respect, I'm spectacular, this the Massacre
compositores: MARC SHEMER, DALE FRASHUER, CLIFFORD SMITH, PAUL LEKA, DENNIS COLES, GARY DECARLO, CARLOS JIMINEZ, LAWRENCE MACK, REGGIE HOBODY
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Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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