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0-10 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Home |
| Lyrics Submitted By: CyBeR ThuG |
| Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yea yo |
| Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo |
| All them real live mother fuckin niggaz step up front right now |
| It’s goin down |
| One love to Long Island Hempstead in my heart baby |
| Shaolin what? |
| Come on, come on, HA! |
| Dangerous ground |
| Tre pound seven spin around for my brethren the clouds come down |
| War and peace, I take it to the street |
| Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief |
| And curse his first born, is this thing on? |
| Send ‘em to the children of the corn we the people |
| See, niggaz through the eye of the demon |
| My lethal injection, destroyin evil |
| Hot Nikkel, private eye one pistol |
| Aimin at your brain tissue, do or die |
| Said the spider to the fly “Could this one be tasty” |
| Like momma apple pie goodness, Johnny Blaze me |
| On the job like Dick Tracy |
| Hit the cure for that ill shit like Ben Casey, M.D. |
| Symbolic thrill like god he shocked it |
| Like a finger in a light socket, too good to be forgotten |
| In the rotten apple |
| I kick dirt on the sand castle |
| Check the flavor all natural |
| (Beat your feet) |
| Hot Niks son |
| (E-mizer) |
| Before you get the main course |
| (Taste a appetizer) |
| Submerged in the word |
| Heavy headed verbal |
| Smack you, mentally disturb you attack you |
| Thirty-six chamb once again comin at you |
| Young gun got the body snatch you observe |
| Yo eyes work you can only see through the third |
| Eyeball baby I’m the norm on the bird |
| To shine on mental nourishment, you can dine on |
| Track yellin at me get yo arrow god |
| Victory is hard |
| Regardless to whom or what |
| They all get retard it’s a law |
| Runnin through a house and your block party, we wreck-tion |
| And Hot rock the body body, St. Bernard's |
| Couldn’t save your entourage plat lobotomy |
| Leave ya mentally scarred, numb and possibly |
| Dumb deaf and blind is it |
| I keep your spine out the battery pack spark it with mine keep it movin |
| Now everybody just throw your hands in the......(phone rings) |
| What the fuck? |
| Peace - who this? |
| [Streetlife] |
| Mind detect mind |
| A P.L.O. da startin line |
| Deep Space Nine |
| Designed for knuckleheads who bust guns and throw signs |
| Let’s converse snatch the tap from your purse |
| Body-surf on the verse head first |
| Peeped your feet bitch straight beat you know wit the heat |
| And you spazzed out spittin out teeth ain’t nothin please |
| Big boys don’t destroy blunt is so pop stare on |
| 50 men convoy, spends to wear the big toy |
| Rumble through the wasteland my hands on the silencer |
| 40 caliber city slicker Staten Islander |
| Synchronize minds combine thoughts that motivate |
| Don't’ perpetrate pass the blunt let it circulate |
| Street politicians on a suicide mission |
| Crime vision finger itchin from a scope-view position |
| Dangerous ground |
| Tre’ pound seven spin around for my brethren the cloud comes down |
| [Method Man] |
| Yo |
| Keep ya eyes open |
| Love potion number nine poetry in motion |
| Knowledge me the seventh sign |
| Scold it connivin |
| Infiltrate is most of mine |
| Play ‘em nonchalantly, calmly expose the nine |
| Push and get shoved what the fuck gods thinkin of |
| Comin in the club wit that screw face, actin up |
| Is we men or mice, bad moon risin |
| We wild for the night |
| Kill a schizophrenic nigga twice cuz-a |
| That’s what happened when frontin on this Shaol brotha |
| Island of Staten we in here no fear |
| Assault wit intent |
| To kill your whole regiment it’s real |
| Startin wit yo president, duckin my dart gun |
| Tear apart something you don’t want it then don’t start none |
| Blaze one with Jonathon, part man part fly |
| Handle my B-I camouflage like G.I. |
| Fat like Joe, a day in the life |
| Your money or your life that’s the life |
| Everybody can’t afford ice in the struggle |
| Tryin to eat right another day another hustle hustle hustle |
| (Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh) |
| Dangerous ground |
| Tre’ pound seven spin around for my brethren the clouds come down |
| War and peace, I take it to the street |
| Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief |
| Mother fuck |
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