Shyheim

Shyheim - Wake Up Show Freestyle songtekst

Je score:

(feat. Rza, Gza)



[Shyheim]

This is on some Cash Rules Everything Around Me type thought

Yo bust it yo, yo

We was chillin on the ave, buggin out lookin dap

And these four cold boys rolled up in a cab

They pulled out a tool, said get against the wall

F' that, I'd rather brawl than to go out at all

My man pushed back *blaow* he pulled the trigger

Nah G not on Sin, that's my main nigga

His body hit the floor, blood covered the ground

How that sound? I didn't even get my last pound

The red glare with his tears made me shed

Now I'm fed, my right hand man could be dead

Hell no, I couldn't let em flee that ain't me

Or how me and my crew lounge and be

So we dash with a rugged child on his ass

In the grass his life is now come to pass

The fam made him trip, aww shit the gun slip

My man picked up the burner and emptied the clip

In his back, no slack jack, with sound to retreat back

Wipe the gat and pack it in a napsack

Yo be out cause 5-0 is soon to come

You get arrested and bagged for murder one

I'm in the house with Bishop, The RZA, The GZA

Represent kid you know how it goes dizza



[Prince Rakeem & RZA]

I'ma set it off for The GZA then GZA gonna finish his-a

Set it right here from the beginning? Aiiight bet check it

Cash Rules Everything Around Me

CREAM get the money, dollar dollar bill y'all, check it

I make a rugged bloody spectacle

Technical feast where beats hits like a kick to your testicles

Niggas remind me of vegetables

So I'ma stir fry your brain like the incredible edible

Egg, I got mad CREAM between bread

Rip it on, pass the bone, let's get stoned like Fred

Flintstone when I roam boy it's evident

We only puff on the leafs with the ganja scent

I be the mean black gugger bust a slug in your mug

Watch the blood overflood your head like beer suds

The temple that I am in I gots the mental rhymin

While chumps try to pump the styles of Simple Simon

I be The RZA, yo I gets bizza with my lizza

Here be my nizza, The GZA

Live in effect on KMEL boy



[The Genius & GZA]

Yeah, and you don't stop yo

Callin all cars, callin all cars, lyrical psycho

Armed and dangerous, leavin mad scars on those

Who are found bound, gagged and shot

While I blast the spot niggas took off like astronauts

Difficult see even your best can't come on down

You're the next contestant

Get your non-lyrical rhymin ass a spankin

I'm catchin wreck, gettin more respect than Aretha Franklin

Avenue and Putnam, the rhyme wreckin center

Bacardi and Rum through those cold days of winter

I used to warm up the cipher with a rhyme that was hyper

Than your average JFK sniper

So yo yo, don't even start it

I roll like Kaufmann, lay that ass out like carpet

25 rhymes a square yard

I hit em so hard he wake up sayin "That wasn't even fair God"

Stop the stutterin boy, save your place for the 5-0

Then praise the lord you're alive bro

I release stacks, you premeditate the grab

You couldn't catch it so you bounce back to your lab

Just to look for what, wack rhymes you couldn't finish

Yeah, I know forgot to eat your spinach

Here's a can, for those who wanna sleep, pills

Cold snorin while they slept on my deep skills

That originated back in Shaolin, an endangered island

Shorties losin blood by the gallons



[Shyheim]

Yo I gotta go after that boy

After The GZA then we go to a commercial whatever y'all wanna do

Check it, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo

You better look out kid cause I'm the Wu-Tang's smallest artist

When I come through niggas be jettin like I'm narcotics

I'm the shorty of the bus but yet I hit the hardest

When I rolled upon your squad you showed me where your heart is

You start to snitch like a bitch cold droppin dimes

I cut that ass short like a tree of alpine

But I'm a lumberjack black and a matter of fact

I flip that track like 2 kilos of crack packs

I lit up quick like a 4-fifth automatic

Who got static, like Spike Lee I gotta have it

I gave it to your ass raw like a proud faggot

I keep it movin like I did on my first LP

I stay true to the grain of G.P.

Word to my mother I can never be a sucker

I die hard too, yippie-ki-yay muthafucke
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Taal: Engels

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