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Wu-tang Clan - tar pit - текст песни, видео

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Wu-tang Clan - tar pit - текст песни, видео

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[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)]
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)

[U-God]
 Blood money mercenaries, think you can muscle Wu?
 It's a foot race, who can out-hustle who?
 Hip hop junkie flunky, monkey see, monkey do
 Great minds connect like mobster rings
 Sit back, let me do my, Sinatra thing
 I'm in the Hip Hop Hall of Fame, on the wall is the plaques
 Old ball and chain, I named her Madam X
 She love big cannons, sex unprotected
 You better respect it, kid, we 'bout to set trip
 You get ya neck ripped, eyeballs are scoping
 I don't sell crack, I sell dopium
 Catch him at the podium, nah, he moving too fast
 Professor X, behind the bulletproof glass
 You need a Wu pass, a bag of that high
 Easy with the flicks, baby, I'm camera shy

[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)]
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)

[Cappadonna]
 We might have to 8 Diagram one of y'all MC's
 We grind everyday and we hustle for cheese
 Got our face on the front of CD's, we off the hook
 W.T.C. y'all soft and shook
 Y'all not built like the Cuban Linx Clan that get CREAM
 And back heads down every time we sing
 Give us a hundred grand for a show, let us rock
 For more money, more chicks, more private stock

[Streetlife]
 They call me Streetlife, slap the taste
 Out ya mug, know ya place, you ain't thug, fix ya face
 Throw a slug, catch a case
 Meanwhile, beat trial, back on that cash cow
 Getting CREAM, however, a street brother know how
 Point blank, I'm pulling rank, calling shot, I got bank
 Pass the rock, my hand's hot, hit 'em with the showshotter
 Peace to my ala mater, Wu-Tang block scholars
 Never settle for less, promoters pay us top dollar

[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)]
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside)
 Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4)

[Outro: George Clinton]
 The Clan'll talk, Calabama niggaz all'll quit
 Talking that short dick shit, we was s'posed to be cool
 Only the clue's on the other end of the stick
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
 Over-crowded police blood bamboo bimbo
 Chickenhead skeezer crackrock hoodrat
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
 Barney here is down to a feeding dreadlock
 Armpit like two Buckwheat's in a headlock
 Macy Gray's hair between your leg lock
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
 Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
[coughs] This shit is strong, god damn, what you got in there?
 Over-crowded police blood bamboo bimbo
 Chickenhead skeezer crackhead hoodrat
 Somebody let the monkeys out the cage
 Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back
 Calabama niggaz all'll quit
 Talking that short dick shit
 Speak up, no loud speaker but I'm speaking loud
 Venacular ass kicking, truth got there in crowd
 Shit, they call me the lethal lip
 The linguistic, full metal jacket of venacular ballistic
 Shooting out at the mouth without Chap or Blistec
 Here's a mothafucka, I didn't flunk diaper rash
 I'm verbally toxic, metal-piercing, forked, hollow point tongue
 Dum dum, pow, shot from gattling gums
 Hooked on phonics, packing a vicious vocabulary
 Malicious, with malice and mayhem
 Fuck a dictionary, give me the mic and I'll slay
 Them and literally poetic symptoms
 Pissing me the fuck off, missing me with that shit
 I stick a venacular foot so far up in ya ass
 You won't be able to pass verbal gas
 So far in ya ass that one of my knees will rise so far above ya head
 And you drown of a poetic ass kicking
 Leaving lyrical lacerations on your lungs, from a verbal hangnail
 That hung on my big toe, as I flow upward
 Kicking yo on ya eardrum, you wanna hear some?
 Tap dance on ya tonsils, leaving kiwi shoe polish on ya breath
 Cavity in ya best rhyme, and I'm the access on the rest
 Call me the proverbial verbal menacing dentist
 With the drill, I got lyrical skills
 I could perform oral root canals
 It's unwise to fuck with me
 Kick ya wisdom teeth down ya throat
 Leaving you to choke
 On where it hurts, unspoken vocals
 Tying down ya vocal cord and windpipe tight
 With toe jamming and ya mothafucking hemmoroids
 Fuck the dumb shit...
Добавлено: 22.01.2014
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