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    RZA »

    RZA The Whistle текст песни

    The Whistle


    Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal

    You nizzles try to belittle, but ya’ll lest in spittle

    From a baby’s lip, the digi made me flip

    Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip

    And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002

    We be housin’ crews, plus we housin’ fools

    In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools

    Crazy shootin’ dudes buck off the beat

    Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf

    Two guns in their hands yellin’ «Fuck the police!»

    On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece

    Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo

    On her breast that’s shaped like The W

    Go ‘head snatch the guns, son, I’ll cover you

    And if they get past me we got another two, yeah…

    We smoke those blunts the size of bats

    We got those gats as long as ax

    We snatch that cheese right off the trap

    We put those Beez all on your map

    I shoot the fair one, I dare ya’ll run through New York City

    Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself

    Ace my health, great with wealth

    Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self

    Or any man, woman or child that I call fam

    That’s the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam

    Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues

    Nine o’clock news, abused the mind of many fools

    Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues

    From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent

    Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings

    We never die, built my name, sustained like blood

    Flow through the veins divine sign

    Dine with wine forever sunshine

    We smoke…

    From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band

    Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor

    Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba

    Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca

    Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date

    Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate

    How can you beat a G a week in ’88?

    Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod

    Mama shouldn’t work so hard to pay the landlord

    A grand in your birthday card, times is hard

    The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz

    We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head

    Yo, the east so hot, it’s red, but that’s home

    And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone

    Sonny Corleone don’t discuss it on the phone

    Форма обратной связи