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Rza
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1
(feat. Doc Doom, Force MD's, Freemurder, Madam Scheez, Shyheim, Timbo King)
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[Intro: RZA]
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Come on, come on
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Yo, ye-yeah, ye-yeah
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Where Ya At? Where Ya At?
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Takin' it back to 1982
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Runnin' Brownsville as we bring you (Where Ya At?
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Where Ya At?)
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That phat old school shit
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The best of the troup could find
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BOODOODOODOODOO!
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Yo yo
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[Chorus: Force MD's]
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My crew is super duper fly and we came to get pai-aid
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We pack those glocks and razor blades, duckin' spa-a-a-ades
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Rollin' that sticky chocolate thai, we 'bout to get bla-a-azed
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Y'all cats can't play with us, it's not a ga-a-a-a-ame
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[Chorus - last two lines]
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[RZA]
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Roll up the Winchester, pull my whites, that's the poindexter
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Tell him bring back the black iron Mac strapped with two extra
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Clips was a natural, worms in the Big Apple
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Potholes in the street crack the Benz axle
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Well let me come and descend my mens at you
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You can't just catch this fish Jack mackarel
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B-O-B boy, fast like Bruce Lee-roy
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Caramel sundae honey set the decoy
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For you soldiers seekin' to de-stroy
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me, what the fuck you think we got the heat for?
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You dunns, we knock out your gold fronts
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Shorty got bigger and strong once she start smokin' blunts
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With beef they get found in Hunt's
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There's no chance to score, your best bet's to punt
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[Chorus]
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[Doc Doom]
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I know R&B niggaz that's harder than you
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Young T.G.'s with more street smarts than you
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Hit liq', shit you ain't got the heart to do
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And I bet the click you run with they bustas too
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Fuck a pass, we come strapped when we passin' through
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All types of straps, you get clapped just for actin' new
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Collectin' more guns ever since my cash done grew
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Bad ass with no dash so I'm a bastard too
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Ask your crew, nigga, I gay-bash 'em too
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Grab his strap then ski-mask and bash 'em too
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[Madam Scheez]
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West Cost rider, credit card slider
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Roll up the windows and pass the lighter
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I done turned into a lover, used to be a fighter
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Now I pull out my guns and take 'em out one by one
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You're a beautiful bitch, sittin' on pins and needles
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I done seen bitches emotions breakin' up like The Beatles
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Who's the real bitch now? Seen the fear in yo' tears
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Now Tyrone folks is talkin', shut the fuck up here
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A product of my environment until my retirement
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Have a habit of the automatic breakin' up the static
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And if y'all niggaz wanna trip y'all can suck my dick
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I got eight or nine of 'em, different colors and shit
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[Chorus]
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[Timbo King]
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Smell like the rain forest, got diamonds in the hood - flawless
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Sable Taurus, spit a verse, no chorus
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You're on the wrong turf, one of my songs worth
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two mil', eh-yo, red pill, blue pill
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Still stay focused, off-white lotus, brokers
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I'ma dead y'all slot time, no spins on the hot nine
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Eh-yo, my hot nine got my whole block sign
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I rhyme gangsta, pops was an O.G.
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I'm a junior, my son'll be the third
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Let 'em learn degrees, the bees and the birds (uh-huh)
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Let 'em learn degrees, the bees and the birds
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[Shyheim]
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Why you actin' cuckoo like you just flew over nest?
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Like I give a fuck how much weight you bench
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Shyheim, my government and my attributes
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BIG left me the Tec and the nine at my crib, so Gimme the Loot
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Or L.B.C. ya like Snoop, I'm out to get coof, again coof
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Turn up the thermostat, peep the murder rap
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'Bout to bring it back, in the name of crack
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In the name of dope
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Ridin' through the hood in the Diamondback with spokes
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In the name of thai, cliches and skunk
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I came to get high, came to get drunk
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I came with the Tec, Bobby came with the pump
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We left with the shines, left with two dimes
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Sittin' on dubs, royal flush, five of a kind
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Countin' the spare for the deuce-ooh-ooh-one
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Nigga, our year, niggaz, our year
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[Freemurder]
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Yeah, yeah, yeah
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Yo, talkin' all drunk, makin' a rap right here
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Fool remainders, like he can't get clapped right here
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Fuck the walkin', Freemurder pack right here
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On some napalm and bamboo track right there
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Fuck twenty-five, shit, I'm strapped to the chair
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Cuffie Crime Fam', my fifth black in the air
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Y'all don't want none, lead ya back down the stairs
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Once the Mac appear
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Four heat, I ain't hit 'im, shoot back fire wit 'im
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Whole empire wit 'im, never plea guilty, I ain't hit 'im
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Guess who lyin' wit 'im
102
Left po', ya dead broke like Holy's ear when Tyson bit 'im
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Still on point like lime segment
104
Pull out joints, the nine wet men
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Double action, don't want no trouble, askin'
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"Who I be?", Murder like Tai Chi
107
Get ya brain tilt
108
New Yorker, Brooklyn is where he come from
MF DOOM - Books of War (The Lost Chapter...
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