Wu-Tang Clan

Wu-Tang Clan - Bust A Slug lyrics

Your rating:

[Chorus: Trigga - Money Makin' Operation]
 We famous decorators
 Outlaws with the force with the Money Makers
 Wu-Tang when we bang we be regulators
 Player haters can't play us cuz the thugs obey us
 Bust a slug to save us

 [Joe Mafia]
 Straight missle, spit false gristle, snapper time
 Pop the tops off of Anaheims, tropic refined
 Extortin air time, imported from the Mason-Dixon Line
 Look at my frigid eyes, fake fucks describe
 Slap 'em paralyzed, analyze the lies
 Kinetic, my word is all I have, slaughter trash
 Monster mash, half ass on the war path
 Suffer land, give a fuck, grand crashin the Pan Am
 My squad Van Damme, the shit was suntan
 VA so tanned, without the beenie rap, who?
 Hoodini rap, Mussolini stack, Lambourghini crash
 Kiss the genie lamp, henny big, excellency
 No fake shit, wrong recipe, war speciality
 Meet the headless heat

 [Trigga - Money Makin' Operation]
 Recognize, direct from them cats that fantasize
 It's that nigga Trigga, Medallion Isle drug dealer
 I slaughter pace on the reels, no more dough waste
 This paper chase got me in the eyes of snakes
 Brutalize projects, caught up with the fake
 True villain, when I vacate I'm Cold Chillin
 Niggaz spillin, picture the man, ice grillin
 Gats with the muffle, groove on with my hustle
 For 25 years of tears and no fears
 Money Makers, Wu-Syndicate takin it, yeah
 Let it be clear, Medallion Isle, we foul
 Klik Ga Bow move man, woman and child
 It's the swarm, Russ Prez smokin a storm
 Far from norm, life legacy live long
 Represent, I reside in eternal torment
 Often survivors of abortion, lampin in coffins
 Forcin, yea, wrap your tear in extortions
 Yea, big before I return hit the porcellain



 [Ill Knob - K.G.B.]
 The K, the G, the B, Ill Knob bring the ruckus
 Cuz I don't got time for these faggots, they frontin
 But I'm about to break em out the havoc with the fire
 I battle water, what you order?
 You would run far from the slaughter
 I'm gunnin out whoevers in the order
 the hitch out, no bitch out
 I'm cold bloody, nigga, get your rich out
 A nigga ditch out for yourself and your family
 Cuz I don't want nobody layin, handin me
 I'm livin life, profanity, insanity
 Because I'm not sane, insane
 When I rockin on the block I gots to push my cane
 Got to live in this life, baby, times is trife
 Have to be on my side if you playin my wife
 No knife come between us, married to my Syndicate
 Niggaz see this, playa hate and try to be this
 It's hard to beat us and you don't wanna be this
 When you warmin up ya fist, you don't wanna be missed
 Buck! Buck! Bust a slug back, what the fuck?

 [Myalansky]
 This is yea, three burners, made Tina Turner dance
 Probably you kidin me, only my man bust outta me
 I was gotta slicin the pot by about a three
 Dicks for them niggaz that snitch, whoever shot at me?
 All up on my shit, pussies plottin three days to 'bout a week
 Wu-Syndicate, most hypnitated 'cross the E-N-T
 Entire, niggaz collapse and raid the empire
 Where the stash at? Cryin, he broke, a damn liar
 Yolk for the smoke, back room, medallion man croke
 Now kneal, no jokes, get back, take it, no damn moat
 Joke, lock the dough, pussy, stay down, lay down
 Slow Napolean, get the duct tape, cave it for cash flow
 Biography, million of my fans get painted robbery
 A to Z enyclopedia, color photography
 Penitentuary rhyme, soft get they ass took
 Street turn, patiently speakin, you know the math
 Make bitch niggaz ballerina, pull up they tu-tu
 Smacked up in front of your bra, what his man do?
 Eyes gluded to my right hand
 Don't rush me, what that bitch nigga scream?
 Runnin through traffic like lightnin
 My loud boss screamin, yellin for wifin
 You see that shit, another hit, Wu-Syndicate
 Myalansky, Joe Mafia, Napolean, collie on
 Marlon Brando rap, your rolie on
 '97 bar, tighten storm door, war was on
 '98, a twisted rate, kidnap and solemnly swore
 to my pa', give my last call, pass the shoe horn
 Don't shoot guys, calmly move on, totally we groove on
 We above your valley cleaner, who clapped, Sally seen her
 Black '97 beamer, bitch niggaz ballerina
 Niggaz dance

 [Chorus (x3)]

 [Outro: Trigga]
 Famous decorators, yea, yea
 Poison Clan... *echo
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

Details:

Language: English

Share your thoughts

This form is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

0 Comments found