Letra de Older Gods - Wu-Tang Clan
Letra de canci�n de Older Gods de Wu-Tang Clan lyrics
''(Verse One: Ghostface Killah)''
Aiyyo I roll like a bat out of hell
Evil acapell's fly spittin out of my grill
Before I hit the sky with springtime colors, juicy as a Sunkist,
Certain broads double dutch this, they carve it in they wrist,
Pales berry blazes straighten the crumbs left on the stove,
Clothes in my lady hair plus yours the look gold God,
The old tainted bald technique
Got these vestibules designer niggaz in they whips jumpin out they seats
Eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
We like Dorothy Hamill on ice, we in your hood we might circle,
Hats down low in the Range Switch lanes,
Change my tire, peel out Real loud on the stage yo,
I shitted on your hood kid, I shitted on your hood,
Got to your burner too late, I'm lookin real good,
Draped out shinin like a fresh fifty cent piece
Your girlfriend, c'mere, oh shit, you my man's niece,
The gourmet pocket twenty bombs made of clay
Sexcapades take place, we fucked in forty-eight shades
Might walk up in your studio time slap your engineer
It's lighter fluid to that style, hand me the matches now
''(Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef)''
Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's this
Niggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twist
E shakes, puffin on lye, feedin the seed's plate
Pullin out, old dirty eights to rob gates
Major wake up, the kid tell tales, make a nigga head wake up
Beats break, the nigga would take off his time
Honolulu status, gladdest the rich rock cabbage
And dollar vans grands That nigga mad savage,
Stationary Hall of Justice, niggaz came clumped out
Just came home, now they bunked out
Money be longer than triple life til the sun burn out,
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/older-gods-wu-tang-clan.php
That's my word, move it with the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin, roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
Most of my team, Five Percent
Check what the live said rollin with Guess vests pedestrians yo
holdin my nuts, fuckin thousand dollar lesbians
''(Ghost)'' Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
''(both)'' Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
''(Ghost)'' It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
''(both)'' one time in the respectable mind
''(repeat 2X)''
''(Verse Three: The Genius/GZA)''
Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barks
Tire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
Witness, forget his original statement
Even in protection programs there's no escapement
Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crowns
Spent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
Wounded, back in the eighty-three summer heat
Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin off the drummer's beat
I stalk the city streets demonstratin mic wrecks
All lookin stank, I ain't playin wit a full deck
And as they nervously stare, I know they scared
They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square
Household name, assassin, killa bee
Mill to the grain, that posess the Wu, trilogy
Quick to spot those that bite camoflouge and blend
Those that got styles, they got identical twins
Don't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
Without skills, they master the art of mimicry
But I go line for line on the whole page
Your unspotted life on the mic is old age
Aiyyo I roll like a bat out of hell
Evil acapell's fly spittin out of my grill
Before I hit the sky with springtime colors, juicy as a Sunkist,
Certain broads double dutch this, they carve it in they wrist,
Pales berry blazes straighten the crumbs left on the stove,
Clothes in my lady hair plus yours the look gold God,
The old tainted bald technique
Got these vestibules designer niggaz in they whips jumpin out they seats
Eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
We like Dorothy Hamill on ice, we in your hood we might circle,
Hats down low in the Range Switch lanes,
Change my tire, peel out Real loud on the stage yo,
I shitted on your hood kid, I shitted on your hood,
Got to your burner too late, I'm lookin real good,
Draped out shinin like a fresh fifty cent piece
Your girlfriend, c'mere, oh shit, you my man's niece,
The gourmet pocket twenty bombs made of clay
Sexcapades take place, we fucked in forty-eight shades
Might walk up in your studio time slap your engineer
It's lighter fluid to that style, hand me the matches now
''(Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef)''
Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's this
Niggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twist
E shakes, puffin on lye, feedin the seed's plate
Pullin out, old dirty eights to rob gates
Major wake up, the kid tell tales, make a nigga head wake up
Beats break, the nigga would take off his time
Honolulu status, gladdest the rich rock cabbage
And dollar vans grands That nigga mad savage,
Stationary Hall of Justice, niggaz came clumped out
Just came home, now they bunked out
Money be longer than triple life til the sun burn out,
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/older-gods-wu-tang-clan.php
That's my word, move it with the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin, roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
Most of my team, Five Percent
Check what the live said rollin with Guess vests pedestrians yo
holdin my nuts, fuckin thousand dollar lesbians
''(Ghost)'' Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
''(both)'' Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
''(Ghost)'' It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
''(both)'' one time in the respectable mind
''(repeat 2X)''
''(Verse Three: The Genius/GZA)''
Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barks
Tire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
Witness, forget his original statement
Even in protection programs there's no escapement
Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crowns
Spent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
Wounded, back in the eighty-three summer heat
Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin off the drummer's beat
I stalk the city streets demonstratin mic wrecks
All lookin stank, I ain't playin wit a full deck
And as they nervously stare, I know they scared
They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square
Household name, assassin, killa bee
Mill to the grain, that posess the Wu, trilogy
Quick to spot those that bite camoflouge and blend
Those that got styles, they got identical twins
Don't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
Without skills, they master the art of mimicry
But I go line for line on the whole page
Your unspotted life on the mic is old age
